


Regnum Amisit

by RagnarokAscendant, WrittenEmber



Series: Beyond the Crossroads [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Braided Hair, Broken Gods, Characters work through their issues, Communication, Culture Shock, Deities, Dissociation, Fluff, Gen, Glen gets a job, Glen has theme music and its hilarious, Glen has wolves inside his head, Godslaying, Hostile to magic, Logical Consequences, Loss, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Mook Horror Show, Promises, Punching above your weight class, Reconnecting with friends, Refuge in audacity, Ren gets a job, Ren is a teacher, Slow Burn, Stranded, Trauma, Uplift, losing a loved one, split soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 81,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagnarokAscendant/pseuds/RagnarokAscendant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenEmber/pseuds/WrittenEmber
Summary: Part two!Even with a couple fleet's worth of sci-fi awesomeness in orbit, Domhan still has secrets...and some of those secrets can be deadly.Stranded and alone, surrounded by those who would hate and fear them, our heroes will have to step carefully to survive...Feedback is encouraged.





	1. Something interesting

Greenstone Court at its height could never have compared with the grandeur, nor the sheer size, of Hollowheart. But then, Ren didn't imagine many Courts could. Certainly Sunfall hadn't, even though it, too, had been sizable.

 

Because it wasn't just size. Hollowheart was... majestic. Ren stood with Glen and Cassiel on a balcony overlooking the main cavern, taking in the sights while the Queen and her advisors deliberated. It was high noon, and a column of golden sunlight speared down through the Skybreach, a vast, round hole in the cavern roof, to illuminate the terraced Court-city climbing the cavern walls below them. The floor of the cavern was likewise split by the Fissure, laying bare the drop beneath the island to the cloud sea far below.

 

"What's that big red one with the pillars?" Ren asked, indicating a building on the lowest tier, so large that it supported part of the tier above it.

 

"That is the Hall of Scholars," their guide, a man called Chabod, explained. "And what you see down there isn't the half of it. Many of the buildings visible here extend quite deep into the rock, and lead to other, fully subterranean areas. There are several smaller caverns as well, no less impressive. Would you like to see one?"

 

Glen nodded silently, drinking in the sight. He’d been quiet during most of the discussion with Hollowheart’s Queen, weighing in only rarely.  Ren wondered why. Hollowheart was the third Court they had traveled to, seeking alliance between the Demaki of Domhan -- Ren's people -- and the humans and Shikanen, recent arrivals from another universe -- Glen's people -- and offering technological uplift to the magic-reliant Demeki in exchange for whatever help they could give the aliens in their endeavor to settle on Domhan. He had not been so taciturn in their dealings with the other Courts. Something was bothering him.

 

"Yes," she told Chabod, "we'd like that very much." He beamed, clearly proud of his home and eager to show off every aspect of it. As he led them off the balcony and down one of the great switchback walkways -- a route chosen for its scenic value, Ren suspected, since she had glimpsed archways leading to enclosed spiral stairways offering more efficient paths to other levels -- she slowed her steps, until he had gained enough of a lead on them to afford them a private conversation, provided they kept their voices low. He either didn't mind or simply didn't notice, and continued to narrate their progress through this district and that neighborhood, pointing out the landmarks.

 

"Everything alright?" she asked Glen, softly.

 

Glen tapped his temple. “Integration trouble,” he said. “Since Greenstone. Worse, now.”

 

Ren didn't entirely understand the state of Glen's soul. It wasn't something he had been inclined to talk about, and she had never dared to push. But she knew that there were three parts to it, separate yet interdependent. She had learned of them, and met the other two aspects first hand, inside Glen's mindscape during a rather disastrous encounter with a Shikanen priest. That, too, was something she hadn't wanted to risk asking questions about.

 

But he seemed to be inviting discussion now. Or at least acknowledgement. "The other two... in your head? The rhudits?" she asked tentatively.

 

“Wolves,” Glen replied. “They're….diverging.” He frowned.

 

"Diverging?" Weren't they already separate?

 

“Acting more and more independently of me. They _ should not be doing that. _ ” There was a note of something she barely recognized in his voice. Fear.

 

Ren's tail twitched nervously, tufted end flicking around her ankles. She hesitated, then asked, "What does it mean that they are?"

 

“I don't know.”

 

She moved over to walk closer by his side. "Try not to worry," she said. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out."

 

Cassiel, ranging ahead in his eagerness to see more of the cavern, seemed to sense Glen's unease, and came back to them. He fell in beside Glen and made a handsign meaning 'all good?', followed up by a tip of the head. He could speak when he wanted to, but often lapsed into nonverbal means of expressing himself. Glen had taught him the hand signals he used, and Ren had learned them too, just to keep up with the two of them. The pair’s ability to understand each other was uncanny enough even  _ without _ a secret sign language.

 

‘Surviving’, Glen signed back, with a slight smile, before nodding to her. “You're right, I suppose,” he said quietly. “Still...don't like it.”

 

If it bothered Glen, then Ren didn't like it either. But they had no more chance to talk, because Chabod had reached the place he wanted to show them.

 

"Through here," he said, indicating a large, leaf-shaped archway cut into the cavern wall. It was framed by a motif Ren recognized: the ever-vine. In her home in the Reaches, the symbol served as a memory device, the number and pattern of leaves on the vine aiding storytellers in the recollection of everything from oral histories to myths and legends to tales of the gods. She still wore a copper bracelet bearing the symbol, one of the last reminders of her lost home that she had. Here in the Courts, she knew, the ever-vine was a metaphor for divinity. According to the Blessed, it represented the flow of divine power, which spread outward in ever-branching pathways connecting every deity with every other, no matter how disparate.

 

Sure enough, the space beyond the archway was a temple in the Court style, and an extensive one at that. Soaring arches dipped down from the roof with no pillars to support them. It was a trick of the architecture -- not even magic, much less divine -- but it nonetheless conveyed the sense of an invisible force, an unseen hand perhaps, holding up the honeycomb of vaults that made up the ceiling. The stone floor was smooth and polished, inlaid with glass tiles, again depicting the ever-vine motif, this time in a sprawling knot with no beginning and no end, only endlessly branching and intersecting vines filling the entire center of the open floor. A young Blessed, still in the dark robes of an initiate, was walking that path in slow, steady paces, hands clasped in prayer. His quiet mantra lent a kind of heartbeat to the space, soft in Ren's ears.

 

All along the walls, niches of varying sizes had been carved into the stone. Each one housed the visage or symbol of a deity, often in the form of a statue. These representations were made of a variety of materials -- metal, stone, wood, even clay -- but even the most humble was adorned with precious and semi-precious stones, and many were gilded or at the very least elaborately painted. 

 

Here and there, a worshiper stood or knelt before the shrine of the deity they had come to praise, or question, or curry favor with. Some wrote their prayers on slips of parchment and burned them with incense and sweetsage; others lit candles, or made offerings, or simply bowed their heads in silent communion. The ledges below each niche and the deity it housed overflowed with the symbols of ritual worship.

 

_ We ask a lot, _ thought Ren,  _ but they don't seem to answer much. _ That had not always been the case. At least, not according to the stories.

 

Chabod made no attempt to narrate this particular wonder of his Court, simply standing back to let them take in the holy halls on their own terms. Ren walked slowly around the edge of the room, on the margin between the ever-vine inlay and the many shrines.

 

Glen followed her as he looked around quietly, noting each statue in turn. His gaze fell upon  a statue of a goddess with closed eyes, depicted with a feather cupped in the palm of one hand and a talon in the other, and he nodded to it. “That one?”

 

Ren studied the figure. The face was asymmetric, one half appearing joyous, the other stricken. "I think that's meant to be Adran. She's the goddess of emotion and instinct."

 

“Hmm.” Glen approached the statue slowly, looking it over. He tensed as he grew closer, nearing the pile of discarded offerings until he stood at the foot of the pile, unable to advance any further.

 

"Is... something wrong?" Ren frowned softly, puzzled by his reaction.

 

Glen said nothing, merely staring up at the statue, mismatched eyes meeting closed ones.  For a moment, Ren thought she had been wrong about the eyes, that they were open after all, animal eyes with yellow irises and no sclera visible. But then she blinked, and there were only smooth stone lids, eternally closed. Glen snarled silently, before his entire body shuddered, and he turned back, walking back to her and Cassiel.

 

Ren stared at the statue -- unmoving stone, unchanging features -- then at Glen. "What was that?" she said, half whispering. “What happened?”

 

He shook his head. 'Unknown’, his hands signed. 'Silent’.

 

Oh. That wasn't good. If Glen couldn't find his voice, he had to be really upset. Cassiel signed back, 'let's go'.

 

Ren put a hand on Glen's arm, offering wordless reassurance. Then she nodded. "Yeah, come on, let's get away from here." She didn't want to hang around within sight of that statue, eyes closed or not.

 

###

 

A fleet AI was never idle. Nemesis took in streams of data- sensor readouts, mission reports, system logs- and molded them into a cohesive whole, thoughts moving as fast as electricity could crawl through the fiber optics of her ship and the crystalline matrix of her core. The same was repeated across the three hundred vessels of every size that made up the Commonwealth contribution to the allied fleet. She envied her counterpart on the Confederacy side--  _ he  _ only had two hundred to manage.

A discrepancy drew her eye- an odd difference between aerial photography of Domhan and the radar and infrared readouts.

A moment, and she switched her attention to focus on those readouts as the magnitude of the discrepancy became clear. That was a landmass the size of a continent….hidden from both sight and thaumaturgic sensors.

She checked and double-checked the sensor arrays across the fleet. None were malfunctioning.

She ran through the list of the teams deployed. Best to investigate quietly, which ruled out most. The diplomatic teams would be best, but…two were negotiating, one of the teams with the steppe nomads on the large landmass to the east, another speaking with the Reaches. 

That left Carviss, whose group had just secured the standard deal for Hollowheart.

She composed and sent a pair of messages. One to Carviss, to inform him of his new priority. The other to Cidet, to inform him of the problem she'd already solved.


	2. Glen has troubles

Mute again. And from nothing more than a feeling.

**[More than that. To hunt to run to fight to love, living.]**

That feeling had steered him towards that statue, sure as a compass pointed north. And then….something indescribable.

Negotiation was done with. The Queen had accepted their terms, and he’d sent his report in. He didn't need to speak to type.

**[Stop fighting give in.]**

No. He would _ not _ lose control. He clamped down on his mental static with a grimace as he stood. The coordinates were set for the area Nemesis had indicated. The shuttle itself would do the rest of the work.

He walked into the cabin of the shuttle, and sat on the couch, drawing knees up to chest and chin.

Still mute.

 

Cassiel had shadowed him while he set the autopilot, and now settled quietly beside him, mimicking his pose and watching him sidelong with a worry line between his eyes. Ren was at the counter of the little galley kitchen. She turned around with a lidded mug in her hands, and brought it to him. Coffee. Huh. He must really be stuck in his own mind if he hadn't even noticed the smell of coffee brewing.

 

He took it with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and forced his legs down, sitting normally.

 

Ren produced tea for herself and Cassiel -- Cassiel's expression indicated he would rather have had coffee, but he didn't complain -- and then leaned back against the counter, watching Glen. The worry was plain on her face.

 

"I don't know what that was, in the temple,” Ren said. “I've never seen that kind of thing. But Adran is, if not exactly benevolent, at least not malicious. If that  _ was _ some kind of... manifestation..." she shrugged. "You could attract attention from worse."

 

He nodded, and sipped his coffee.

 

"That's not what's wrong," said Cassiel, quietly. He looked up at Glen. "I saw what happened."

 

He  _ knew. _ He’d seen what had happened. Maybe he understood it, too. He gestured for Cassiel to keep talking.

 

Cassiel watched Glen's face as he spoke. "I know there's three of you inside," he said. "I saw it when... you fought Verlel, and..." 'danger', 'lost', 'hurt' "And the Sparks helped me fix it." A handful of tiny blue lights -- the Sparks -- winked into existence around him, as if in response to his mentioning their part in saving Glen's life. Had it truly been only a few months ago? Cassiel went on, unmindful of them. "I saw one of the other yous in the temple. He had a different shape, like a rhudit but not, and bigger. He was all black, but his eyes looked the same as yours. When he went up to the statue, so did you, like you and him couldn't really move except together. And the statue... when it opened its eyes, it was him it was looking at."

 

Id. He’d seen Id, not as the part of him he should have been, but as a separate entity. The integration  _ was _ failing. He held himself still and quiet.

**[Self is self is self, running free destined]**

No. Id might have been manageable leashed, but he  _ knew _ what would happen if he let that part of him take control. Bloody, unrelenting, full-blown chaos. That was what Id represented, after all. It's why he'd been named what he had.

He took a breath, and nodded.

 

"The black rhu-- wolf?" asked Ren. "You saw it  _ there _ , in the temple?"

 

A nod from Cassiel. "In the not-seen." He blinked and corrected himself. "In the Essence, I mean."

 

Ren put a hand on the back of her neck. It was a compromise gesture, Glen knew, to avoid the urge to touch her horns. At one time, she could have seen the same thing that Cassiel had. Not so anymore. "That never happened before," she said. "They always made your Essence strange, but I never saw them take independent form."

He shrugged. They'd been that way before. But now they weren't. He’d never heard of anything like it happening. And that worried him almost as much as the prospect of Id off his leash.

 

Ren sighed. "This is important, and we'll talk about it when you're ready, but right now... we're not making you feel any better, are we?" She smiled apologetically. "So let's talk about something else. Where we're going, for example. A hidden continent, that's pretty... well, pretty astonishing, actually. I've never even heard of there being a continent. How do you hide something like that?" Her face darkened with sudden uncertainty. "And who would want to..."

 

Right. Focus on the mission. Use it to ground himself. 'Magic’, he signed.

 

"Yeah, has to be," Ren agreed. "But that's major. I mean,  _ deity _ -major. Unless my species somehow has our own Archons that have kept the secret of their existence  _ really _ well... I don't think there's ever been a Demeki with magic strong enough to hide a continent. I don't even think Verlel could have done it when she was using all the power of Greenstone's Bond."

 

'God’, 'trapped?’

 

"If a person had enough power to trap a deity, they wouldn't  _ need _ to trap a deity. They'd effectively be one themselves." She thought for a moment. "Although, that doesn't rule it out, does it? Power wants for power, all too often."

 

He nodded, and sank into the couch, clutching his mug of coffee.

 

"Maybe it's a god that did it 'cause he wanted to?" said Cassiel. "Maybe he just doesn't want visitors."

 

Ren's expression was almost enough to make Glen smile. "That's... not exactly better, kiddo," she told the boy. "Seeing as we intend to visit. Besides, gods don't... I mean, they haven't..." She stopped. "Well, they did once, I suppose. Maybe you're right." Her eyes darted to Glen and away. Probably thinking of the statue again. Those eyes.

 

Hrrm. Someone powerful enough to erect a wall that hid a continent….that would have been felt by mages for miles around. Especially Demeki, who seemed sensitive to changes. He snapped his fingers, and when the others looked at him, quickly signed 'records’, 'retrieve?’

 

"Recor-- oh! Records of the area. It probably hasn't always been like this, so there should be some marker of the change taking place. And even if it’s been here too long for that, there should at least be records of it as an anomaly, a strange place." Ren frowned. "For that we probably should have stayed at Hollowheart. You saw their libraries." She said the word 'libraries' with a kind of awe. Hollowheart had indeed possessed an incredible collection. “We could go back?”

 

He shrugged. Too late now, it seemed. They'd be going in blind. He’d had worse starts turn out well.

_ [If you count a deorbiting space habitat, sixteen smashed city blocks, and a rabid circus as 'well’. I do not.] _

Was his programming getting in on the independence idea? This was getting worse.

 

"No, I suppose you're right. We've come this far. And all it would really tell us is how long it's been this way. We already know the answer is 'long enough for people to forget an entire continent'. Which... that must be a pretty long time, actually."

 

He nodded, sipping coffee. It might be shorter than she’d think- a few centuries would be enough, in a culture without access to prolonging techniques. What could be problematic would be if the locals were hostile. Normal, welcoming people typically didn't wall themselves away from the rest of the world.

 

"How long until we get there?" Cassiel asked.

 

'Hours’, followed by three fingers being held up. It’d be faster if he wanted to push the engines, but there wasn't any real reason to do so. He’d save on months of lifespan on the parts, and it wasn't like this mystery continent was going anywhere.

 

'Chess?' Cassiel signed. A new word they had added to Glen's existing repertoire of modified military hand signals.

 

He smiled slightly, and nodded. Maybe that would help.  Cassiel grinned and got out the board. It was a rare physical copy, ebony and ivory pieces and everything. Cassiel set it up with practiced speed, giving Glen the white and himself the black. Ren watched with a smile, then shook her head. "You two have fun," she said. "I'm going to enjoy the view." She went back into the cockpit, the only place on the shuttle that had windows.

 

Glen set his mug beside the board on the coffee table, and moved a pawn, the one in front of the King, two spaces forward. He’d started every chess match he could recall in this way, and he didn't see any reason to change now.

_ [Variation may avoid predictability.] _

Not on a mission, not listening to you.

**[What about-]**

No.

 

Cassiel brought out the pawn in front of his knight.  Glen countered with a knight of his own, and the game played on. 

It’d only been a few months, but the boy had improved immensely. Less stodgy, though still more cautious than his own style of play, and often distracted into leaving something undefended. Glen won the first game handily.

 

‘Again?’ Cassiel signed hopefully, unperturbed by the loss.

 

He nodded, feeling tense muscles loosening already. The game quieted the static.

 

They played, and kept playing, and he barely noticed the time slipping by. Then, Ren's voice, calling from the cockpit. "Whoa... Glen? Is this okay to fly through? That's some weird weather going on over there and we're headed right for it..."

 

He frowned. He didn't like the tone of worry in that voice. He nodded to Cassiel, and signed 'pack away’, before moving to the cockpit. 

What he saw made him scramble to strap in instantly.

 

It was more than a storm. It was a  _ wall _ of storms. It was thunderheads piled atop thunderheads, from high in the atmosphere all the way down to the cloud sea below, all of it whipped into strange, restless shapes by a constant, ragged wind, and laced through with erratic bursts of lighting.

 

He put a hand on Ren's shoulder from his seated position, and gently shoved her towards the copilot's seat, before taking hold of the controls and switching off the autopilot. The shuttle could fly through this- scary as the storm looked, this ship was still rated for atmospheric re-entry- but he wanted everything strapped down while he did so.

 

There was a series of soft clicks behind them, as Cassiel clipped himself into the safety harness on his seat against the back wall of the cockpit. Glen glanced back to make sure he had it on properly; he did, and he was also awash in little blue lights, droves of the Sparks flickering around him. He was watching the storm with an odd expression.

 

"It knows we're coming," Cassiel said.

 

Glen tilted his head curiously. He hoped that didn't mean what it sounded like.

 

"Cassiel," said Ren, "that's the creepiest thing you could possibly say right now. Please tell me you're not talking about the storm?"

 

Cassiel nodded. "The Sparks said so," he insisted.

 

Okay. Screw this. He didn't care what was on the other side, he was turning around right bloody now.  But even as he slowed the ship and started to turn it, they were pulled sideways, toward the storm, as if caught in an aerial riptide. He tried to accelerate out of it, to no avail. It sucked them in, and then began to toss them first one way, then the other.

 

He slammed against his restraints as the shuttle jolted again, and he felt a soundless snarl on his lips as he tried to wrestle the craft into some semblance of control. He’d have to get through the storm, but navigation...nothing. No connection to the outside world, to the fleet, no way of telling which way he was going.

And then the engines went dead, the control panel going black an instant later.

 

The shuttle rolled, and Ren screamed. Some unseen force caught the craft across the nose, stopping the spin but sending it careening sideways and down. And then  _ Cassiel _ , out of his harness and launching himself toward the control panel. Little hands found purchase on a lever here, the edge of the console there... and around him the Sparks became a whirl to rival the storm outside. Cassiel shuddered as they shot into the control panel, into the shuttle itself. The dials and screens came back to life, but the readouts were gibberish, needles swinging crazily. Hints of blue danced along the walls, the floor, across the windows, setting the entire shuttle alight with a faint blue luminescence. The shuttle bucked violently, and the storm outside seemed to redouble... but it could not find purchase on the metal hull, could no longer grab it and fling it around like a toy. The craft steadied and settled into a glide, forward but still down, still too steep...

 

He reached for the backup controls, physically set into the ship, and desperately tried to force the ship level. The shuttle bucked, nearly throwing Cassiel off his feet, but the glide flattened out just enough that they weren't hurtling towards the ground.

 

Not that they could see the grou-- but then they could. The storm broke around them as cleanly and suddenly as if they'd come out through a curtain. 

 

There was the continent. A sea of coniferous forest, stretching away to snow-capped mountains far to the north. The land was riddled with deep fissures and strange ridges, nature's giant jigsaw puzzle.  _ Something _ broke the wash of green in the middle distance, a city perhaps, but they were already too low to see far, too low to worry about the view when there were trees with trunks a meter thick rushing up to meet them.

 

The blue glow around the ship flared even brighter...and then went out like a switch had been thrown. Cassiel screamed. And metal met old-growth forest with a shrieking, tearing roar.

 

His hand shot out, yanking Cassiel out of midair as the impact launched him off his feet. The shuttle's wing clipped a tree, and went into a flat spin, slamming into more trunks, smashing through the smaller ones. [ _ Focus. Impact here and here, falling there. Pull...that lever, yes. _ ]

The shuttle bucked again, and a portion of the cockpit next to his head caved in as it slammed into another tree. But they were close now, almost--

The shuttle hit the ground, and Glen's head slammed into the bent metal of the crumpled cockpit. 

Darkness.


	3. Brains should not work that way

After the chaos of impact, even the ensuing silence felt loud in Cassiel's ears. Everything had happened so  _ fast _ . He didn't know what the Sparks had done; they had wanted him to touch the controls, they had done something to the ship, but then they had gone out, and all that was left was a tight, dim glow deep inside him where they lived. He'd been thrown -- he had the distinct impression of being in the air, no control -- but Glen caught him and pulled him in. Everything after that was a jumble of screaming metal, rending wood, the shuttle shaking and jolting and  _ just not stopping _ .

 

Now...

 

He was on the floor. Nothing was moving anymore, and it seemed weirdly quiet. He lifted his head.

 

Then he scrambled to his feet. "Glen!"

 

Glen sat slumped in his chair, the cockpit on his left side caved in from the impact. Cassiel could see blood on the collar of his shirt. He  _ wasn't moving. _

 

Cassiel heard Ren struggling out of her safety harness behind him; he reached Glen first, but then froze, afraid of making it worse. "Glen?"

 

Then Ren was beside him. "Glen?"

 

No answer, to either of them. Cassiel's chest felt tight.

 

"It's okay," said Ren. Her words might have been reassuring, but her tone failed to support them. "Cassiel, tell me what you can see."

 

Oh. He'd forgotten that she couldn't anymore. Cassiel shifted his focus, looking not with his eyes but with another, less tangible sense. The world changed, becoming overlaid by currents of light and color and  _ feel _ . The energy that radiated off of Glen was different from most people's; it had layers, and it was thicker, and usually brighter. It was not bright now. It wasn't dim like it had been when Glen had fought Verlel and nearly died, though. This was a deep-sleeping kind of dimness, with the feeling of  _ wrongness _ in it that came from being sick or hurt, not just asleep. There was  _ injury _ too, a red tinge. And  _ pain _ .

 

He didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know what to  _ do _ .

 

'Hurt', Cassiel signed. 'Head'

 

"Okay, but I need more that that," said Ren. "Hurt how? Inside? Or just the cut?"

 

'Inside'

 

"What about his neck? His back?"

 

Cassiel shook his head.

 

Ren began undoing Glen's safety harness. Cassiel helped, and between the two of them they got Glen out of his seat and laid down on the floor without, Cassiel hoped, jostling him too much. The  _ injury _ echo in the not-seen didn't flare any brighter, at least.

 

"Go back in the cabin and get the medkit," said Ren.

 

Cassiel didn't want to leave Glen's side. Why didn't  _ she _ go get it? But he felt the urgency, knew there wasn't time for arguing, so he went. He came back as fast as he could, toting the medkit with its bright red X.

 

Ren opened it, and took out something like a tablet but with several small lenses on the back, like flat, glassy eyes. The screen on the other side lit up, and Ren aimed the lenses at Glen.

 

The device started to talk. Cassiel recognized that voice, bright and immensely cheerful. He remembered Glen showing Ren this stuff and how it worked. At the time, that chirpy voice had seemed funny. Now it annoyed him. He didn't want to sit there listened to that dementedly happy voice talk about how badly Glen was hurt. He wanted Glen to be better. Right now.

 

'Help' he signed.

 

But Ren shook her head. "No, if you try to use your magic to help him, you'd probably end up hurting you. And then both of you would be in trouble." She was digging in the medkit, looking for a list of items pictured on the screen of the tablet. When she had them all, she handed him the tablet. "But you can hold this for me," she said. "Keep it where I can see the screen." He did, biting his lip and feeling useless and helpless and worried. 

Ren tapped the screen, and the voice started telling her what to do.

 

Cassiel watched. Glen looked terrible. There was a cut on the left side of his head, that had bled all down his face and neck and was still leaking red into his hair, turning it from brown to black. Bruises were already darkening his skin, and he still wasn't moving.

 

As Ren cleaned the cut and bandaged it according to the chirpy voice's instructions, Cassiel fidgeted and grew increasingly anxious. Why wasn't Glen waking up? Ren finished with the bandages, and all that was left was a clear packet in her hand, with two little pills in it.

 

"I can't give him these when he's out cold..." Ren frowned, clearly worried. She looked at Cassiel. "The hurt inside his head... does it... how does it look? Is... oh, I wish I could see it for myself! Do you think he has a concussion? That means a bruise inside his head, on his brain."

 

Cassiel looked. There was still  _ injury _ in Glen's not-seen, red and pulsing. It was not as bad around the cut anymore, but it had gotten worse on the inside. He gave Ren a distressed look. 'Unknown', he signed. 'Worse.'

 

'Help?'

 

Ren hesitated. "Do you think you can borrow Essence from me? And not let any come from you? Or him. Can you control it well enough to do that?"

 

Cassiel nodded. He could, he was sure of it. He could do anything if it would help Glen.

 

"Okay. Borrow from me, and give it to him. Don't try to do anything active. Just... direct the flow. Me to him."

 

Another nod. Ren put her hand on Glen's head, and Cassiel put his on top of hers. Then he shut his eyes, the better to give all of his attention to the not-seen. Ren's not-seen was erratic and fluttery -- she was upset, too -- but it was bright. There was plenty of it. He caught a thread and guided it through their hands, into Glen.

 

The energy began to flow, washing into Glen and through him. Gradually the pulsing  _ hurt _ inside his head faded...

 

His not-seen spiked, and he opened his eyes and sat up smoothly, looking around slowly.

 

The knot in Cassiel's chest untied itself. "Glen!" he said, relief and joy in his voice.

 

"Oh, thank the goddess," said Ren. "Are you... do you feel alright?" She peered at Glen, still worried, which made Cassiel worried, too. But Glen looked okay now, except for his head being all bloody and bandaged.

 

Glen’s head swung to look at her slowly. Then he nodded, a small motion.

 

Cassiel patted Glen's shoulder. "You're okay now," he said. "I can see it." The not-seen around Glen was not entirely back to normal, true, but it no longer made Cassiel's own head ache to look at it. It was a 'bumps and bruises' kind of hurt, now, nothing like it had been.

 

Glen gave Cassiel a strange look, like he wasn't sure if he was seeing him, and shrugged off his hand.

 

Huh? Cassiel drew his hand back, surprised.  _ Was _ Glen okay? Maybe his head still hurt.

 

Glen stood silently, still looking around.

 

Ren packed up the medkit, and looked around, too. "Yeah, I guess the ship took a beating of its own..." She was right. Aside from the caved in part of the cockpit, the windows were so webbed with cracks that Cassiel could barely see through them. There seemed to be only debris on the other side of the glass, swathes of torn up earth and shredded trees obscuring what little view there was. The back end of the shuttle sat higher than the front and the whole thing was canted to the side, so that the floor had a slight but noticeable slope to it.

 

Glen nodded flatly, and moved towards the cabin.  Cassiel followed close behind him.  Glen moved... differently. His steps were short, precise, arms held close to his sides. He didn't acknowledge Cassiel at his side, not saying a word.  Cassiel fell back a step. "Glen?" he asked, uncertain.

 

Glen shook his head. “No.”

 

"No what?" asked Ren, stepping into the cabin with the medkit in her hands. Cassiel just stared at Glen, confused and suddenly feeling like it was a lot more than the floor that was off-kilter.

 

“This one is not Glen,” Glen said calmly. “This one is only a part.”

 

Cassiel stiffened; he felt cold, and unbalanced. Glen's voice... it was Glen's voice, but it didn't sound right, somehow. And the way he moved, and the way he responded -- or rather, didn't respond -- to Cassiel... it was true. This was a different Glen. One of the other ones. But... weren't those also Glen? But not his Glen. Not exactly. Part of him, but not the same.

 

He started to tremble.

 

Ren was watching Glen with a wary, wide-eyed expression. "You..." She shook her head. "Which... part?" she asked, sounding choked.

 

“This one is not named. Simply referred to as programming.”

 

"You don't have a..." Ren frowned, then shook her head again. "Is Glen... in there? With you?"

 

Not-Glen nodded. “He sleeps.” He looked down at his hands. “This one is….unused to control. Sensation is strange.”

 

"I don't think you've ever had control in the time I've known... uh... Glen," said Ren, slowly. "Does this... happen?"

 

Cassiel didn't care. It was happening  _ now _ and he didn't like it. He wanted Glen back.  Not-Glen shook his head. “It has not happened, nor was it known to be a possibility. Our resurrection may have had something to do with making such a thing possible.”

 

Ren glanced at Cassiel, then back to Not-Glen. Cassiel swallowed hard. This was part of that? He'd saved Glen's life! But... maybe he'd done it wrong, somehow. The trembling got worse. 

 

"I guess that means you don't know how to... I mean... Uh, when you say he's sleeping--" Ren's words were a blur; Cassiel lost track of them.

 

What if they couldn't fix it? 

 

What if Not-Glen had taken Glen's place? 

 

What if--

 

He realized he had sat down right there on the metal floor, hard enough to make his teeth clack together. His eyes stung, and it was hard to breathe.

 

“Cassiel.” Not-Glen was crouched down in front of him, staring at him. “What is this fear? This one does not understand.”

 

It took effort to get the words out. But there weren't handsigns for this. "I don't... want... Glen to... go away..." He looked back at the face that looked like Glen but wasn't. Not-Glen shrugged off Cassiel's touch. Not-Glen needed words when Glen would have understood without them. Not-Glen was... not Glen. Not the same. Cassiel's shoulders hunched, and he dropped his eyes.

 

“This one understands,” Not-Glen said. “But Glen cannot sleep forever. He  _ will _ come back.”

 

"Are you sh-sure?"

 

“If this one has to drag him kicking and screaming from the depths of our mind, this one will,” Not-Glen said sternly. “But this one suspects that will prove unnecessary. When he wakes, control will go back to him, as things should be. This one is not meant to do more than advise.”

He stood. “This one should see if our equipment survived intact.”

 

Cassiel stayed where he was for the moment, watching Not-Glen moving around the cabin. Ren came over and gave Cassiel a hug. "It's alright," she told him softly. "He'll wake up." He didn't answer. He could see she was watching Not-Glen just as close as he was.

 

Not-Glen disappeared into the back of the ship, where the bunks were, and came out hefting a metallic case. He left again, and came back with another, which he put in front of Ren.

He sat, and opened his own. The vest came out first, then the familiar long coat, both of which he put on quickly and silently. The mask followed, a new one, mostly thick, metallic fabric rather than the solid one Glen had lost months ago. He tucked it away inside the coat. Last he pulled out the rifle Glen had acquired, a short, blocky thing that seemed tiny compared to the massive weapon Cassiel had met him with.

 

Ren patted Cassiel's shoulder, then opened the case Not-Glen had brought her. Inside was Ren's own weapon, a bow. It had an odd forward curve to its limbs, not like the longbows Cassiel was used to seeing, but Ren said 'recurve' bows were normal where she was from. Not that this was a Reaches bow. This was a human design, slim and light-looking, made of the same matte, black material parts of some of Glen's weapons were. She also took out a coat, lighter and shorter than Glen's but sturdy and with lots of pockets. There was also a variety of small items that went into those pockets, and there was a knife, which she hung at her belt. 

 

Cassiel's hand went to the knife at his own hip. It was a kukri, a very special one, twin to the one Glen wore. A lot of people gave him funny looks, an eight-year-old boy walking around with a knife -- and a big one, at that -- but he knew how to use it. Better than some adults, even. Glen had taught him.

 

Not-Glen’s head snapped up. “There is someone outside,” he said flatly. He disappeared into the back of the craft.

 

Cassiel jumped to his feet and started to follow. "Hang on," said Ren, catching his arm. "Let me go first. We have no idea what we've landed in here."

 

She got in front of him, but at least didn't try to stop him following her to the shuttle ramp. It was open, and Glen was out of sight, but as they stepped down -- jumped down, actually, with the angle of the shuttle and the gouge it had dug in the ground as it came down -- they heard a voice from somewhere up toward the front.

 

"Ah! Eh- Hello. I... ehm... was just... Well, you made quite an entrance, didn't you?" It was a man's voice, a little bit reedy. He laughed, but it sounded nervous.

 

“Yes,” Not-Glen's voice said bluntly, drifting up from the front of the ship. “Who are you?”

 

Ren took the lead and Cassiel followed her down the length of the shuttle, quietly, until they were close enough to see who had found them.

 

It was a short but lanky man with long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He was halfway up the mound of snapped trees and plowed earth the nose of the shuttle was buried in. Had he been trying to climb up to the windshield? He seemed to have gotten himself stuck in the process. He had his head down, trying to disentangle himself, and talking all the while.

 

"Oh! Oh, yes, me. I am, I am Dagonoth, of the village --egh, that's wedged rather tight, isn't it?-- Bernswall just over that-a-way. If I could just--Ow! No." His leg, apparently trapped in the debris, slid down another few inches, and he winced. "Lovely place. Bernswall. I come from there. So I would know. Yes. Ow."

 

Not really 'talking'. More like babbling.

 

“Do you need help?” Not-Glen asked politely.

 

"No, no, I'm... I... ah, yes, that is, I think perhaps I do." He looked up then, apologetically, and got his first good look at Not-Glen. "Ah! You... you have a great deal of blood on... on your... is your eye  _ red _ ?" He made a strange noise, kind of like a giggle and kind of like a whimper. He lost his balance and sat down among the twisted branches, trapped leg leaving him in an awkward, skewed position.

 

“Yes, it is,” Not-Glen said. “Are you alright?”

 

"Yes! Yes I am. I am very much alright. I was wrong, even, and I don't need help after all! Everything is fine, I am entirely alright. I... I am just going to... to... well, don't you worry about me, you just go on back in your... um... flying thing... and I'll be out of here in two flicks of my tail, oh yes, so sorry I troubled you, and I'll be on my way... I won't even mention to anyone that I saw you. No, sir-ee, I wasn't here, and you weren't here, no, none of us was here, I was just riding in the woods, was I, all alone... yes. Goodbye now..." He scrabbled at the branch pinning his leg, looking pale and very upset. Just because Glen had one red eye and one grey one? Sure, it was weird, and lots of people stared and got fidgety when they noticed it, but Cassiel had never seen anyone react like  _ this _ .

 

Not-Glen looked over at them, and shrugged. “Can you help him? This one seems to be scaring him.”

 

Ren went forward, while Cassiel went to stand beside and slightly in front of Not-Glen. He didn't like the babble-y man, or the way he looked at Not-Glen.

 

"Hello. Dagonoth, you said? Hi. I'm Renma."

 

Dagonoth paused in his struggling to look at her. Then he started in again.

 

"Could you not do that for a moment?" said Ren. "I'm going to come up there and help you, but if you keep wiggling you'll shift something and get us both stuck. And possibly break your leg."

 

The threat of a broken leg stopped him, and he froze, looking down at the debris as if suddenly expecting it to bite him. Ren carefully climbed up to where he was, and looked down into the tangle of wood and pine needles and clods of earth. After a moment, she reached down and grasped a thick, splintered limb -- or maybe it was a sapling trunk -- and hauled on it, pulling it up and back as far as she could. Dagonoth gasped and quickly pulled his leg out through the gap. 

 

As soon as he was free, he jumped clear of the pile of debris. The leg was obviously hurt, which made for an awkward jump and an even worse landing. He came down crooked and fell, hard, but quickly struggled back to his feet.

 

"Wait!" said Ren, as he started to hobble away. "I don't know who you think we are, but we're not going to hurt you. Please wait..."

 

Dagonoth kept going, limping heavily.

 

Not-Glen moved quickly and silently, blocking Dagonoth’s path. “This one has no intention of harming you,” he said, folding his arms. “There is no need to run. We helped you, now you can help us.”

 

Dagonoth squeaked in response to Not-Glen's sudden appearance in front of him. He swayed a little, like he was thinking of trying to go around him. But he didn't. Eventually he asked, warily, "H-help you how?"

 

Not-Glen shrugged. “What is this place? We came from the south to investigate it.”

 

"The... south?" Dagonoth's eyes turned in that direction, then came back to Not-Glen. "There's nothing to the south. Except... oh my. Oh... oh my." He looked even paler than before. But there was something else, too, a change Cassiel couldn't name. "This... This is Finyar, the Kingdom of the Immortal Brethren." He stopped there, watching them, gauging their reaction.

 

Not-Glen tilted his head. “You are immortal? Why do you fear, then?”

 

It took Dagonoth a moment to process this answer. It clearly surprised him, but it seemed to be the answer he'd been looking for, too. Finally he shook his head. "Not me. Oh, goodness, no, never me, or anyone like me. The Brothers are the rulers of this land, our leaders and protectors. I am only a man, of the good and loyal village Bernswall, a humble servant of our Brother Jorge." He paused, then said, like he was testing them, "You know nothing of this land? Of the Brethren?"

 

“If we knew anything, this one doubts we would have arrived in the manner we did,” Not-Glen said.

 

"Heh. True enough." Dagonoth nodded, slowly. Then he lifted his chin. "Then you will come with me to the village. To meet our Brother Jorge. ...Yes?"

 

Not-Glen looked at Ren. “It is your decision. This one will follow.”

 

Ren looked unsure. "Uh... well, I mean... I suppose we should. What else are we going to do, right? Wander around in the woods?" She gestured to the trees surrounding them. They were tall and thick and, beyond the space cleared by the violent arrival of the ship, blocked out most of the sunlight. Since the light was already diffused by a thin but unbroken cloud cover overhead, that left the world below the canopy looking downright murky.

 

Not-Glen nodded, and stepped aside, opening a path for Dagonoth.

 

Dagonoth nodded and limped forward. He didn't go far, though, only a little ways into the trees, toward a thick clump of underbrush. He whistled, and a large animal came out of the bushes to meet him.

 

It was a stot. At least, Cassiel was pretty sure it was. Greenstone didn't have stots -- the island was too small to need them, and if there were any in the outer holdings, Cassiel had never seen them -- but some of the other Courts they'd been to had, and although this one looked like mostly the same animal as those, it was also different in a lot of ways. The Court stots had been stocky, short-legged creatures with thick, blunt horns and sleepy eyes. This stot was tall and thin and graceful, and its cloven hooves were pointed and sharp-edged. It's horns, parallel, rear-pointing scythe-shapes seated high on its head, were much longer, and they ended in tips even sharper than its hooves. There was nothing sleepy about it's large, brown eyes, or any other part of it; even its walk was energetic and alert, as it came up to Dagonoth and lightly butted it's head against his chest. "Good girl," Dagonoth told it -- her -- scratching the beast's head between its horns. "This is Tooth," he told them. "My trusty steed." He swung up into Tooth's saddle, and she turned her head and looked at him as if to say, 'sure, hop on up, don't mind me'. But affectionately. Or so it seemed to Cassiel.

 

Not-Glen approached it cautiously, and extended a hand, holding it out in front of the stot.  Tooth snuffled at the offered hand, then lifted her head and stretched her neck out, snorting in Not-Glen's face. Dagonoth laughed. "She likes you."  Not-Glen held himself very still, then slowly patted Tooth, scratching under the stot’s jaw.  Tooth flicked her ears forward, and put her short, arrowhead tail up, apparently pleased.

 

"You two... three? Hello, little man, didn't see you before... just follow me," said Dagonoth. He kneed Tooth, and she started forward at a brisk walk. Not-Glen followed, then Cassiel, and Ren brought up the rear. The trees closed in around them, and before long Cassiel glanced back and found the shuttle gone from sight. Ren noticed him looking, and winked. "Don't worry," she said, too quietly for Dagonoth to hear, although Tooth turned an ear in their direction. "I can find it again."

 

They walked through the forest for what felt like a long time. Long enough that Cassiel started to wish  _ he _ had a stot to ride. Long enough, even, that the light started to fade as late afternoon gave way to evening. Dagonoth babbled most of the way, meaningless chatter about the weather and the light and the birds that flew by, and about Tooth and the many other rides he had taken through these woods on her. Either every one of those rides had been incredibly boring, or else Dagonoth was the worst storyteller ever and left out all the good parts, somehow using lots and lots of words to do it.

 

No words about where they were going, though, except the occasional assurance that they were 'getting closer'.

 

When the village finally appeared, it happened very suddenly. One minute they were in the woods, and the next they were out in the open, tromping through muddy grass and onto an equally muddy road with deep ruts in it, which curved in from the other direction and led toward a gate set in a stone wall.

 

A stone wall with spikes on top.

 

Not-Glen looked at the wall, then fell in beside Ren, murmuring in a voice too low for Cassiel to hear. He unslung his rifle from over his back, carrying it low in both hands.  Ren nodded. Dagonoth glanced back at them, and Cassiel thought he looked unhappy to see them with their weapons out. The man obviously didn't know what he was looking at, though, because he watched Ren's bow more closely than he did Glen's rifle.

 

"This is it," he said cheerfully, with a sweeping gesture as if showing them a grand vista.

 

Cassiel didn't find it cheery or grand. It looked grim.

 

They weren't even inside yet, and already he wanted to leave.

 


	4. Well this is a great way to meet the locals

The sight of Bernswall, with its heavy stone wall and its iron spikes, made Ren want to turn around and leave at twice they pace they'd approached at. Cassiel and Nameless-Glen both seemed to share the sentiment.

 

But they were here now, and her reasoning back at the crash site was still valid. Where else were they supposed to go?

 

The gate was open and unguarded. That seemed at odds with the spike-topped walls. Once they were inside, however, she could see there were guards after all, two of them, stationed in a small guardhouse just inside the wall. That... seemed like an odd place to put the guardhouse. Shouldn't it have been  _ outside _ the gate, where they could watch the road, and the forest?

 

Dagonoth exchanged a more-than-a-mere-greeting nod with one of the guards, as he handed him a folded sheaf of papers pulled from an inner pocket of his coat. " _ They're _ here to see our Brother," he said, conversational but just a little bit stilted. Like he was leaving something out.

 

The guard eyed them. His grim expression became even more so. Then he nodded, and elbowed his partner, who got to his feet and set off walking, quickly, down the street. Dagonoth followed at a more leisurely pace. "He'll let them know we're coming," he said to her and Nameless-Glen. Still cheerful, still talkative, still making Ren feel weirdly uncomfortable without being able to put a finger on why.  Nameless-Glen seemed to feel the same way, judging by the hunch of his shoulders as he followed her like a loyal hunting rhudit.

 

At the pace Dagonoth set, Ren had plenty of time to examine their surroundings. A modest town, but not poor, the brick and wooden buildings -- built in a blocky, unfamiliar style -- were well-built and kept in good repair. The people were likewise, plainly dressed yet clearly wanting for little. And if there seemed to be a dullness to them, a lack of energy in their steps, well, it was a dull day, overcast and cold. This region seemed to take the south's propensity for winter rains to a new extreme. Everything was damp, and a musty smell pervaded the air, not the sweet afterwash of recent rain but the smell of an oft-wet landscape that hadn't seen the sun in some time.

 

Then Ren saw a human. She blinked, shocked... and then stared hard at the woman. She  _ wasn't _ human. She had a tail, and there were the subtle differences in build and body type that marked human from Demeki. But... she had no horns. Her hair was tightly scraped back in a knot on the back of her head, and she wore no head covering, nothing that could have hidden even stunted horns. Then Ren spotted a hornless man, and another, and then a child, too. Was there something in the bloodlines here, some deformity, that caused otherwise healthy-looking Demeki to be born without horns?

 

But no. Because the child had  _ scars _ . Small, star-shaped, clearly old, they crowned his temples just at the hairline, where his horns should have been. Now that she knew to look for it, she saw the same marks, faded by decades, on the adults.

 

These... people... What  _ was this _ ? Ren stopped in her tracks, staring.

 

“Say nothing,” Nameless-Glen said softly from behind her. “This one has noticed as well. There is something awry in this place.”

 

'Awry' didn't  _ begin _ to cover it. Ren felt sick. It took incredible effort to get her feet moving again, and even greater effort to continue forward instead of turning and bolting for the gate. Memories wanted to well up -- grasping hands, struggling,  _ pain _ \-- but she forced them down and withdrew from any thought of past events, or people without horns, or the kind of person that would do that to another.

 

She walked faster, Cassiel and Nameless-Glen staying close without her having to tell them to, forcing Dagonoth to pick up his pace or be left behind. They didn't need him for a guide anymore anyway. All they had to do was continue in the direction the guard had gone.

 

Sure enough, their destination, once in sight, was self-evident. In a town of plain buildings and plainer people, the large, ornate house overlooking the square stuck out like a gaudy courtier amid a crowd of grey-robed Blessed. It had pillars on either side of the overlarge front door, and the steps leading up to it -- it was the only building they'd seen so far with an entrance elevated enough to  _ need _ steps -- boasted iron railings so fancifully wrought that they looked like overdone scrollwork. In front of the door, a man in silk livery, golden yellow with black accents, was already waiting for them. He was young, but had the authoritative air of someone older.

 

Nameless-Glen stared at him silently.

 

A lot of people would have quailed under that stare. A lot of people had; Ren had seen it happen. But Black-and-Gold only dipped his head in greeting. "Word of your arrival reached us. I understand you have come to see Our Undying Brother?" The way he said it made even the 'our' into part of the title.

 

Nameless-Glen looked at Ren.  She met his look. He didn't seem any keener on the idea than she did.

 

But Dagonoth answered for them. "Oh yes, that we did, yes." He dismounted, and handed Tooth's reins off to a stable hand who had come out of nowhere, apparently lying in ambush for such time as his services were needed.

 

"Very well," said Black-and-Gold. He opened the door and stood to one side, bidding them enter with a wave of his hand.

 

Nameless-Glen went first, head swiveling as he tried to watch every angle at once.

 

The inside of the house was just as opulent as the outside, with thick, embroidered rugs, gold -- or at least, gold-leafed -- fixtures, and elegant, fussy furniture that clearly saw a lot of dusting and polishing and very little use. It was quiet. Not empty quiet. Hushed quiet. Tip-toe quiet. Nobody-disturb-the-Master-of-the-house quiet. Not what you would expect, if this was supposed to be the town's seat of government. Even if it was a very  _ small _ town.

 

"If you would wait?" Black-and-Gold said to Dagonoth, indicating a sitting room just off the entryway. Dagonoth nodded, and stayed behind there while Ren, Cassiel, and Nameless-Glen were entreated to follow Black-and-Gold upstairs.

 

He led them to room with a door at either end and nothing in it save a sideboard table and two stiff-looking straight-backed chairs with no arms. The kind of intentionally uncomfortable chairs where pompous people, convinced they were important enough that no one would dare complain about their hospitality, liked to make others wait.

 

"A moment," said Black-and-Gold, and he left them there, disappearing through the door opposite the one they had come through.

 

“This place is  _ immensely _ disturbing,” Nameless-Glen said into the ensuing silence.

 

"What do you think they'd do if we tried to leave now?" Ren had a feeling she knew, and it wasn't a desirable prospect.

 

Nameless-Glen considered this. “Given their reaction to this one, it seems likely they operate under some sort of superstition. They will see this one as a dangerous threat. This one will not be allowed to leave willingly.”

 

What? "Then why in allgods' names did we  _ come here _ ?" Why hadn't he said something? Why did he let her decide whether to follow Dagonoth or not, if he knew it meant-- She made an exasperated sound, then caught herself rubbing at the base of her horn, and stopped. "Then we should go, now, before they can be any more prepared than they already are."

 

“We lack information. This one will procure it. The head of local government will be within acceptable distance for interrogation.”

 

Ren looked at him. This part of Glen was... pragmatic wasn't quite the right word, but it was the closest she could seem to get. Was this voice always there in Glen's head, telling him things like that? Putting the world in such hard perspective, stripped of sentiment? It made her sad to think so. Sad for Glen and this nameless alter-Glen both.

 

She nodded, slowly. He was right; they were blind here, knew nothing of this place, and they might not get another chance to actually talk to someone in charge. They needed this.

 

"Alright. But if things turn sour, we're out of here. All of us." She would make sure of it.

 

“Of course. Alive, we can try again. Death is mission failure.”

 

"Uh..."

 

Before Ren could find a response to that, Black-and-Gold returned. "You may enter now. You will leave your weapons here."

 

Nameless-Glen nodded, and safed his rifle, extending it butt-first in one smooth motion.  Black-and-Gold accepted it and placed it on the sideboard as if it were no more remarkable than a tea tray. He took Ren's bow as well, and then held out his hand again, looking pointedly at their knives. Ren sighed and handed hers over.

 

Nameless-Glen paused, then handed his own over as well. But while she knew he had dozens more hidden in that strange coat, he made no move to release those.

 

Good.

 

Black-and-Gold didn't appear to give Cassiel a second glance. If he had, surely he would have noticed the sheathed kukri hanging like a small sword at his hip. Or perhaps he did see it, and just didn't expect a scrawny, undersized boy to be able to actually do anything with such a blade. Either way, more fool him.

 

With a flourish, he opened the door for them, and they stepped into the next room.

 

It was an office. Though the room was sizable, it still managed to be overpowered by the massive desk in the center, behind which an equally massive chair hosted a man who would probably have seemed taller if he hadn't chosen to surround himself with such large furniture.

 

He was just shy of middle age, with short, dark hair and very green eyes. His appearance might have had considerable weight to it, in his heavy, gold-embroidered robes and with a large, gold medallion, obviously a sign of office, hanging around his neck. But the way he lounged in the oversized chair made him seem more like an indolent child playing dress-up than a grown man of apparent authority.

 

That medalion drew Ren's eye, though. It bore a symbol of three intersecting circles, with a blank eye in the center where all three overlapped. She had seen it elsewhere in the house and, now that she thought back, all over the village. On shop windows, carved into lintels, even burned into the wood of a cart they had passed. A seal of approval? A show of support? Maybe even a mark of ownership?

 

'Brother' Jorge -- this was obviously him -- gave them a smile that was bare degrees away from a smirk.

 

Nameless-Glen sat down in front of him, taking the centermost of the chairs available. He sat arrow-straight, watching silently. He only broke the stare once, to nod to Ren.

 

Since their host said nothing, neither reacting to Nameless-Glen's stare nor deigning to welcome or acknowledge them with anything other than a broadening of his grin, Ren took Nameless-Glen's cue and spoke first. "Hello. I take it you're the 'Brother' everyone keeps talking about?"

 

He nodded. "Indeed I am. Brother Jorge, Vessel of the Immortal Brethren. Just 'My Brother' will do, of course. 'Your Undying' is also acceptable."

 

"Uh-huh." Ren frowned "You mean 'Vassal'."

 

"No." Oh, that was  _ definitely _ a smirk.

 

Ren looked at Nameless-Glen. This just kept getting weirder.

 

Nameless-Glen continued to attempt to bore holes in Jorge with glaring alone, before giving it up as a bad job with a quiet sigh. “Why are we here?”

 

Jorge laughed softly. "You are  _ here _ , in my presence, because you are  _ here _ , in these lands. You  _ came _ from elsewhere, it's quite obvious. I'll wager... south, yes? It's the closest border by far." He looked them over for a moment, making a point of taking in the details. Lingering on Glen's red eye and then, oddly, on Cassiel. "Oh yes. Couldn't be clearer."

 

“That is obvious,” Nameless-Glen said. “Brethren like you rule here, as unaging immortals? Seems unfair.”

 

"Very unfair," said Jorge, sounding pretty happy about it. "Yet necessary. We cannot save the whole world from the Great Threat, but this land... this land we will protect. At  _ all _ costs."

 

“This one assumes this threat is magic of some sort,” Nameless-Glen said softly.

 

"Magic of  _ any _ sort, my unenlightened friend," said Jorge. "Here within the safety of the Barrier, only we Brethren bear the burden of magic's black taint. We shelter our people, our very world, by cleansing it of magic by every avenue possible, and by making ourselves the avatars of those Powers which we cannot fully destroy."

 

“Hrrm. This one is beginning to see why your man was afraid at the sight of him.”

 

"The man who found you? Yes, he knew the signs. All of our people are taught to see them, to the extent that they can." Jorge nodded. "He showed great bravery in bringing you here himself. Bennsen," he said, in sudden inspiration, "reward that man, will you?"

 

"Yes, My Brother," said Black-and-Gold. "Now, My Brother?"

 

"Yes now, when did you think? Do I have to write it out in steps for you? Go!"

 

Bennsen left.

 

“That man will be dead by sundown, won't he?” Nameless-Glen asked flatly.

 

Jorge smiled so that even his green eyes crinkled. "As I said, great bravery. Dealing with magic, and magic users, directly can be very dangerous. He should have left it to us. Much safer that way, for everyone involved."

 

“This one sees.” He stood. “We will be going, then.”

 

"Ah. No. No, I'm afraid not. I--"

 

Nameless-Glen's hands blurred into motion, and a dozen meaty thunks echoed through the room. Slowly, a dozen armored bodies fell to the floor, crashing down through the tapestries that had lined the walls and concealed the niches they’d hidden themselves in, knives buried in throats. “Your guards breathe loudly,” Nameless-Glen said sternly.

 

Jorge made a simpering little moue of disappointment. "You didn't have to do that," he pouted. "So wasteful."

 

Then he moved.

 

He wasn't fast. He was  _ preternaturally _ fast. He was faster than anyone Ren had ever seen; faster than  _ Glen _ . Nameless-Glen, too, and his knife-throwing had been just as impossible to follow as Glen's always was. She saw Jorge practically materialize in front of Nameless-Glen, saw him catch his wrists in too-fast, too-strong hands... and then she was out the door, into the anteroom, grabbing up her bow and spinning back to face the open door.

 

In that split second, the two had gone from Jorge grappling with Nameless-Glen to holding him by the throat. In return, Nameless-Glen had a knife sunk hilt-deep into the Brother's shoulder, and another held close to his stomach.

She had a clear shot, though, and that was what mattered.

 

Her fingers loosed the shot faster than conscious decision, trusting to an instinct built by a lifetime of practice.

 

An arrow sprouted from Jorge's eye socket.

 

_ Thank you, Huntress, _ Ren prayed silently. Be it by skill or chance or both, it was important to always acknowledge a success.

 

The 'Immortal' Brother -- only immortal to a point, it seemed --  convulsed twice, then dropped, limp hand sliding free of Nameless-Glen's throat as Jorge toppled.  Nameless-Glen fell as well, feet falling out from under him as he landed on his back with a thud. He sat up slowly with a groan. “Fast,” he said shortly, standing. “Interesting.”

 

Ren lowered her bow slowly, one eye still on Jorge. It was possible that his 'immortality' was less a matter of not dying and instead one of not  _ staying _ dead. The idea sent shivers up her spine, as old stories -- scaretales, mostly, but they had kernels of truth in them -- came to mind. But Jorge didn't move.

 

She looked back to Nameless-Glen, and found Cassiel standing right in front of him, oblivious to the dead man at their feet, with a frown on his young face. "Are you okay?" Cassiel asked Nameless-Glen solemnly.

 

He nodded, reaching down to Jorge’s corpse and retrieving his knife with a wet noise. “We should go, before any come upon this place,” he said shortly. “The stables?”

 

Stables? Why-- ah, the big stot. Big enough to ride. If those were common here, they could take mounts for themselves and move much faster than on foot.  

 

She took her arrow back from Jorge. The arrowhead came out coated with blood and… other things, and she had to try very,  _ very _ hard to think of this as any other kill, just like taking down game. Just like that. Not like killing a person. She could think about that later. Or never. But not now.

 

After wiping it clean on Jorge's robe, she checked the arrow and arrowhead for damage, found it satisfactory, and nocked it to her string again. She nodded. "Lead the way. I've got our backs."

 

Nameless-Glen nodded, and moved quickly past her, scooping up his knife and rifle. The weapon hummed softly as he turned off the safety.

 

Ren followed him, with Cassiel safely between them, back through the house. They passed people, mostly staff dressed in black and golden-yellow. These people seemed to have perfected the art of not looking up, but that didn't mean they missed the trio's passage. A couple even responded, taking one look at them and then hurrying off with great purpose, most likely to report to someone that armed 'guests' were leaving under their own volition in a situation where they were probably expected to come out in chains, if at all.  But the closest it came to anyone actually trying to stop them was a guard on the main floor, who stepped halfheartedly into their path, hand hovering in confusion over the hilt of his sword.  Nameless-Glen glared at him. He paled, and got out of their way.

 

They found their way to the back of the house before anyone found what they'd left in Jorge's office. Or at least, before anyone had time to figure out what to do about it.

 

Behind the house was a square of packed earth, a private well, and a couple of outbuildings, one of them being the stables. Nameless-Glen headed for that one, taking two stable hands by surprise as he burst in. The younger one ran at the first sight of Nameless-Glen with his bandaged head and mismatched eyes and strange weapon. The older one backed away, wide-eyed, but Ren had the feeling he was at least as afraid of leaving -- he probably wasn't supposed to -- as he was of staying. He didn't seem to know what to do, except hover stiffly in the middle, poised to run but not doing so, with his tail whipping around erratically enough to be at risk of tripping himself if he changed his mind.

 

Nameless-Glen pointed at him. “Either get us three stots, or run. Don't care which.”

 

For a long moment the stable hand only stared at them.

 

Ren sighed. In the stall beside the entrance, a familiar head turned to look at her. "Oh. Hello, Tooth," Ren told the stot. Tooth twitched her ears at them.

 

For some reason, that got the stable hand moving at last. He went into Tooth's stall without a word to any of them and led her out, then produced two more mounts, one a lighter shade of Tooth's russet brown and one dark grey. Ren watched closely as he saddled them, and came away with the feeling that they were lucky he'd been here to do it for them. The tack was unfamiliar to her -- stots in the Reaches were smaller and mainly only served as pack animals; they were ridden bareback, on the rare occasion that they were ridden at all -- but it came out looking the way it had on Tooth when Dagonoth was riding her. Ren could only assume it was right.

 

She looked at Nameless-Glen. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder where he had learned to ride. Were there stots in other worlds? There had to be, because he was the one who had suggested this.

 

Her own skills were minimal at best. And Cassiel--

 

...seemed perfectly at ease on the grey stot, holding the reins firmly, feet in the stirrups. Nameless-Glen gave her a nod before he swung into Tooth’s saddle, and glared at the stableboy, who took the hint and opened the doors before running. 

“Let's go.”

 

Ren decided to forgo asking questions, and mount her -- very tall -- stot instead, once again bringing up the rear as Nameless-Glen started forward and Cassiel followed. There was shouting before they had even reached the yard, and it only got louder as they came out of the stables and into view from the house. Someone tried to close the gate leading to the alley at the back of the property, but not quickly enough; Tooth, either at Nameless-Glen's direction or possibly on her own -- Ren couldn't tell -- charged the would-be gatekeeper before he could latch the gate. He only narrowly avoided being trampled as Cassiel and Ren came close behind.

 

The 'alley' turned out to be little more than a narrow access to the backs of the buildings surrounding the square; following it led them out between a pair of small shops and back into the square itself. But that was alright, because from there they could retrace their route back to the town gates.

 

Except that the gates were now closed.

 

That didn't slow Nameless-Glen.  He pulled what she recognized as a grenade launcher out from under his coat, and fired it with a  _ whump. _ The blast tore the gates apart in smoke and fire just before they rode through.  Once they were out in the field beyond the gates, it became apparent that Ren didn't have control of her stot; that in truth, it was just following the other two. That was the only explanation for how, while she was twisting in her saddle to see if they were being followed yet -- they were, by far too many guards -- it matched pace with the others and took to a long, leaping gait that carried them several meters with every flying bound. She quickly turned to face forward and held on.

 

They had to follow the road. This was not like the walk here, when Tooth had been able to pick her way sure-footedly through the undergrowth. It was too dangerous to bolt straight into the trees at the speed they were going, where their stots risked leaping headlong into any number of hazards hidden by the ferns and vines and layers of old pine needles. And there wasn't enough underbrush to block their pursuer's sightlines and make it possible to slow down. With pursuit so close behind, all they could do was take the road and make a race of it. Hope to outrun them, or at least gain enough distance to turn and shoot.

 

The world  _ twisted _ around them, a blur of color, before biting cold replaced it, and they found themselves on a mountainside, snow falling down around them silently. The stots halted as suddenly as the scenery had changed.

“It worked!” a voice said triumphantly behind them. “Made a path to bring them, and it worked!”


	5. A new friend with a castle

Turn in the saddle. Look the newcomer over.

A Demeki, small, slim. One horn broken, his garments tattered and frayed. He jumped from foot to bare foot.

“The path worked,” he said. Tone was reverential.

 

The environment had shifted. Snow. Thin air. High in the mountains. A considerable change.

Teleportation.

 

The man glared at the newcomer silently, trusting to Renma. She would know what to say. She always did.

 

She was also assessing the one-horned stranger. Then she blinked and shook her head. Said, "If you mean what just happened... well, thank you, we're really grateful to be away from there. But... um... what  _ did _ just happen? And... who are you?"

 

The stranger smiled. “I made a path. From you to home. As for me….I was someone…” He frowned, and scratched his shattered horn. “The Brethren took that. I...had a name, I think. Ah, yes. Joakim. That was it.”

 

Familiarity. The name was associated with  _ Hollowheart _ , and what had happened there. Why?

 

Renma's eyes were very wide. She stared at Joakim and said nothing for a long moment. She looked like she was putting intel together in her head and discovering that it meant something she had not anticipated.  The man had seen that look often through the master’s eyes. Usually in the faces of their targets.

 

"Joakim," she said, in a vocal range indicating distress.

 

Joakim nodded. “Yes.”

 

Ah. That was what it was. A god. A threat? Possibly. The man dismounted, placing hands on knives.  Renma looked at him. Her expression registered surprise.

 

Joakim shrugged, and pointed towards the man- no, past him. The man turned.

That….was a very large castle.

 

There had been fighting here. Clear signs of multiple impacts to the structure and surrounding terrain. The mortar between the stones had a glassy texture in some places, indicative of exposure to intense heat. But the fortress appeared to have withstood the assault with only minor structural damage.

 

A good place from which to defend against enemies.

 

"Why--" Renma stopped and swallowed. When she spoke again, her voice was better modulated. "Why did you bring us here?" she asked Joakim. "What is this place?"

 

“It is home, and safe.”

 

Ah. Ally? Possibly. Maybe asset, even.

 

“I offer...what’s the word? Hospitality, yes. You fight Brethren. So you must be good.”

No trace of dishonesty in his words. The man released his grip on his knives, and nodded to Renma and Cassiel.

 

Renma also dismounted. She showed respect by dipping her head and then made an unfamiliar signal with one hand. "Thank you," she said.

 

Still in the saddle, Cassiel shivered and rubbed at his nose. He was not dressed appropriately for this temperature range.

 

Illness was not acceptable. Not if preventable. The man reached into his coat. It had been restocked from its paltry contents. The man now had enough gear to fight a war across a dozen planets hidden in the pocketed spaces beneath it. The man pulled out a child-sized winter coat, and after some consideration produced another in Renma’s size as well. The man handed them off to their wearers. Scarves and gloves followed. The man did not need them, but  _ they _ did.

The man looked back at the castle. “We should go inside.”

 

Joakim grinned. “Good. My hearth is humble, and not what it was, but it is warm.”

 

Renma smiled and said something the man hadn't heard her use before. "Mar teellah." 

 

It caused momentary confusion. Then Joakim grinned. "Yes!" He beckoned them to follow and led them to the castle. 

 

The gate was damaged. It stood open on bent hinges and bore char marks over at least sixty percent of its front surface. But once inside the walls, there were no further signs of attack. There was an open yard, clear of debris. A shabby but sturdy-looking stable and a large hall, both unmarked. And a stone keep, old but free of the damage done to the outer walls.

 

The man scanned the area visually. Twice. There did not appear to be anyone else around. The only footprints in the dusting of snow were the ones they left as Joakim led them across the yard to the stable.

 

Inside the stable, the stots were seen to. It was important to maintain the animals properly. They did not at all make up for the loss of the shuttle, but they were more efficient than walking. Useful.

 

Cassiel was not tall enough to see to his mount by himself. Joakim proved helpful by assisting him. The man did not need assistance. A stot was very like a horse, even if it looked and moved more like an antelope. The man knew what to do. Renma was the slowest to complete the task. She demonstrated unfamiliarity with the tack and how to remove it. She also demonstrated a propensity to pause and talk to the animal. But the latter behavior appeared to make Joakim happy. He did not become impatient.

 

When they were done, Joakim led them into the keep.

 

The first room was littered with random objects, knickknacks and keepsakes. Some were clearly beyond anything Domhan could produce. A few the man recognized from the master's travels. Bits of statuary and furniture. No weapons, at least not obvious ones. A wall divided the keep's first floor in half. The man could smell baking bread through the entranceway. The man saw points where there had been hinges, as the man walked towards the scent. 

 

Through the entryway, and the man was blindsided by a mass of fur and muscle, knocking the man to the floor. Only familiar memories and a warm tongue on his face kept the man from slashing. A dog.

The man looked up. The dog was very large, and extremely fluffy. The man scratched it behind the ears from the man’s position on the floor. The dog panted happily. It corresponded to no known breed. Possibly some traces of Shikan  _ lupe gigantica _ . It.was certainly heavy enough.

 

Renma and Cassiel both appeared in the doorway. They were alarmed. But Cassiel was first to recognize that the dog was not a threat. His expression changed from alarm to curiosity. Renma's remained wary even after she realized that the man was not in danger.

 

"What  _ is _ that?" she asked. The dog looked up at the sound of her voice, and she stiffened.

 

“Dog,” the man said. Another animal Domhan lacked. 

“Saxon, no! Off!” Joakim said.

The huge animal whined, but got off the man. The man stood, stretching. The dog came up to his chest. The man was short, but not short enough to justify that. Definitely a crossbreed of some kind. The man patted it on the head.

 

Another dog, smaller and shorthaired, poked its head around the table that filled much of the kitchen, and walked cautiously towards Cassiel.

 

Cassiel's eyes widened but he did not move away. Instead he leaned forward until he and the second dog came face to face. It sniffed at him. Then licked his nose. He laughed and pushed it gently away, grinning.

 

“Freki, sit,” Joakim ordered. The shorthaired dog sat. Well-trained. Good.

 

Renma looked on uncertainly as Cassiel patted Freki and scratched his ears. Her expression was easy to read. It said, 'These are predators and they are huge; should we not be more careful?'

 

“It is alright,” the man said. “They are well-trained, and dogs are friendly to humans. And Demeki, it would appear.”  Some of the tension in Renma's posture eased. Trusting the man. But still unsettled.

 

Joakim was watching the man, frowning. The man turned. “Is there a problem?” the man asked.

 

“Your soul is...split,” Joakim said. “Fractured.”

He could see that? Good. The man nodded.

“I can see who should be in charge. I might be able to wake him.”

So that was what hope felt like.

 

Both Renma and Cassiel looked up. "You can see... Glen?" Renma asked. "Can you tell why he hasn't woken? This never happened before. I mean, he hit his head, but that's physical. This doesn't really make sense..." She trailed off. Her expression was puzzled and concerned. "Is he... can you tell... is he alright?"

 

Cassiel looked at Joakim with a hopeful expression. "You can bring Glen back?" he asked.

 

Joakim looked at the man, and nodded slowly. “If I cannot, he will wake when the others sleep regardless. I cannot find the cause of his slumber, though.”

The man smiled at Joakim. “Do it.” Bringing the master back into control was what he wanted.

 

Joakim crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

 

At first there was no change. Then the man felt a space inside. It grew into something circular. A path. At one side, the man and the body and the world around them. At the other, a familiar space. The master's mindscape.

 

The man looked towards the master's mind. That was where he belonged. The man ran towards it as something barreled out, matching his speed in the opposite direction. The man passed it, and only then realized it was not the master. No, what was heading there was---

 

……..

 

Id looked around, flexing his hands (he had hands!). He looked at the Boy, and shook his head (head! He had a body!). 'Didn’t work’, he signed (hands!). He spelled out his name in handsigns, then pointed to himself (fingers!). He couldn't speak. Didn't know how. The Anathema did, but he was back where he belonged. Id was not. The Master still slept.

 

The Boy didn't give an answer with words or handsigns, but he gave one in the way he looked at Id. Confused... then dismayed, once he understood what Id meant.

 

"Oh," said the God. He shifted back and forth on his bare feet, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. You're not the right one either. I made a path into his mind, but he still slumbers. The path brought you instead."

 

The Woman looked at him. "You're... the other one?" she asked.

 

Id stared back, and nodded. He moved closer to her, still watching.  She watched back, studying him. "The black one," she said slowly. "Right? The other one was the white wolf, and you're the black one. Id? That’s your name?"

 

Id nodded again. The Woman had it right. He leaned closer (he could lean!). They were nearly face-to-face now.

 

"Is... something wrong?" she asked. She looked confused. She moved back a step, and looked down at herself, then back at him. There was a little worry line between her eyebrows.

 

He shook his head. There was nothing wrong with her at all.

 

"Uh. Alright..." The confused expression didn't go away, but her face started to color a little.

  
He patted her cheek, then grinned, and headed up the stairs at the back of the kitchen.


	6. Ren deals with things. There are cinnamon rolls.

Ren watched Id vanish up the stairs, and tried to figure out  _ what _ in Hearth Mother's name had just  _ happened _ . An explanation failed to present itself, so she set the question aside for the moment and turned to the other two instead.

 

Cassiel clearly wasn't happy with Joakim's failure to bring Glen out. He had his head down and his arms around Freki's neck. The 'dog' apparently didn't mind, and even seemed to be leaning against Cassiel, wearing what looked very much like a sympathetic expression. She went over to them, and put a hand on Cassiel's shoulder. "It's alright," she told him. "He'll wake up, it'll be alright." Joakim seemed pretty certain of that part, at least, and despite his odd behavior and apparent memory gaps -- whatever had happened to him, it had done a number on him -- she felt inclined to believe him.

 

Cassiel didn't answer, or even look up at her.

 

She looked to Joakim. "Thank you for trying," she said. It struck her all over again that he was  _ Joakim _ , she was talking to a  _ god _ , what was she even supposed to say?

 

Joakim frowned, but nodded. “I wish I could have done more.”

 

Ren shook her head. "It makes me feel better just to know that Glen's still  _ in _ there. Asleep... isn't as bad as it could be. He has to wake up sooner or later." Right? That had to be true. Please, please let it be true...

 

Joakim nodded again. “He seems too stubborn not to.” He looked up at the stairs. “I wonder what his other part is doing, now that it has control. It seemed….wild.”

 

Good question. One she was half afraid to know the answer to. At least he'd gone farther into the keep, and not, say, outside and off to gods-knew-where. "I... should probably go check." She glanced at Cassiel. "You coming?"

 

He let go of Freki only long enough to sign, 'stay'. Ren sighed. She didn't like whatever was keeping Glen from waking but, despite her worries to the contrary, she was inclined to share Joakim's assertion that it wouldn't last. Cassiel looked a lot less sure, and it seemed a near-solution hadn’t done his outlook any favors. She nodded. "Okay."

 

Then she went up the stairs after Id. They led her up to a hallway bisecting the second floor. Two doors on one side, one on the other, all open; she checked each room, but although there was plenty of  _ stuff _ \-- some of it even stranger than the items in the sitting room downstairs, which was saying something -- there was no Id. At the end of the hall was another set of stairs, so she went up them. She repeated her search on the third floor, and again found no sign of him. But just as she was starting to wonder where he could  _ possibly _ have gone, she found one final staircase, this one a tight spiral of wooden steps, very steep, which led up to a trapdoor, unlocked.

 

She went through, and found herself on the roof.  And found Id.

 

He was lying on his back, watching the sky.

 

Ren smiled, both relieved and amused. "You're getting snowed on, you know." She looked up. A blurry sun lay hidden behind a thin but unbroken layer of clouds. A grey kind of day, even up here away from the shadows of the forest, brightened by the snow drifting down in a slow, silent dance.

 

Id made a contented noise, but didn't move.

 

"Yeah," she said, "not so bad." She tucked her hands into her pockets. Even with gloves, it was cold enough here to make her shiver. "Would you believe this is only the second time I've ever seen snow?" She shrugged.

 

“I….see,” Id said quietly. His accent was odd, calling to mind grey weather and tea and dry wits. “And….feel.”

 

That he spoke at all surprised her. She remembered his 'words' when she'd met him in Glen's mindscape. They were concepts. Understanding passed from him to her. Not really  _ words _ at all. She looked at him, about to ask, but then she saw how he was lying on a cold roof and staring up at a grey sky and a half-hidden sun. Looking at it like it was amazing.

 

Like he'd never seen it before.

 

She thought of the snow-covered plain where she had first met Id. Was that the closest he'd ever come to experiencing the world? A dream of it? Memories? 

 

"Oh," she said. "It's..." What would that be like? She could hardly imagine. "Really something, isn't it?"

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” He sat up and stood, dusting snow out of his hair, and walked towards one of the crumbling battlements. He looked out over the castle.

 

Ren joined him there.

 

The land spread out below them, obscured by mists. Dense forest crowded the valley, evergreen boughs thick with snow.  It felt strange, to look down so far and still see land, instead of open air and clouds. Even stranger to look out into the distance, and see  _ more _ land, continuous, unbroken. "This view," she breathed. "It's amazing."

 

Id nodded silently. He laid a hand on the stonework, next to hers.

 

She took it, squeezing gently the way she would have done if Glen had been in easy reach like that. Then she remembered the way Id had looked at her downstairs.

 

It was the same hand. It was not the same person moving it. Part of that person. But not him.

 

“He….cares,” Id said slowly. “As….do I.”

 

Well, yes. She knew Glen cared about her. Glen was her friend. He watched her back, protected her; he had saved her life. She trusted him, and knew she could count on him. She needed him, not because he looked out for her -- although that gave her a sense of security she hadn't felt for a long time -- but because he needed her, too, and that gave her an anchor. That was, she knew, the same thing she was to him. An anchor. Someone to be needed by. Someone to trust.

 

Was that what Id meant, though? Why had he leaned in like that in the kitchen, face-to-face and watching, like he expected something? What had he been looking for? At the time, she had started to think... But Glen didn't feel that way. So why would Id?

 

No, she was just confused because she couldn't read him. She was thrown off because it was so much like looking at Glen, and yet different in subtle ways; the cues were different.

 

She smiled, mentally laughing at herself.  _ Overthinking it, _ she thought. She nodded. "I know," she said, letting the warmth she felt show in her voice. "And I care, too. About both of you."

 

Id nodded, and squeezed her hand gently, before pulling gently, pointing towards an untouched patch of snow with his free hand.  She let him lead her over to it, curious what he was pointing at it for.

 

He began to draw shapes in the snow. The first was a circle, divided into three parts. The center was the largest, with smaller pieces near the sides. He tapped it. “Past.”

He drew another shape, three circles, interlinked. “Now.”

He tapped the left piece of the circle, and the leftmost circle, then himself. “The same.”

 

Ren studied the drawings. One whole, with divided parts. Then three wholes, connected. She remembered Glen's words at Hollowheart.  _ They're... diverging. Acting more and more independently of me. _ __   
  
"You're... becoming a separate person?"

 

Id shrugged, but nodded. “Roots….in him. But….self.” He pointed at her. “Know….how….he feels.” He tapped his chest, over his heart. “Love.”

 

Oh...

 

Ren went still. That... was something she hadn't thought about. Not because it hadn't occurred to her. But because, whenever it did, she pushed it away. That was dangerous territory, thoughts like those. It was something she'd come to terms with years ago, as a thing she couldn't have.

 

Besides, she couldn't expect... feelings like that... from Glen. He'd been too hurt, lost too much. She understood that, felt it echoed in her own losses, her own old hurts.

 

But now here was Id, telling her there was something there. 

 

"Love," she said, very quietly.

 

Id nodded. “He….won’t let….himself feel. I...not bound. Can say it.” He grinned toothily. “Smarter that way.”

 

Ren smiled. "Maybe so."

 

But part of her wondered. If Glen was suppressing it, didn't that mean it was something he didn't want? Or at the very least, wasn't ready for? Was it something  _ she _ was ready for? An uncomfortable question all around.

 

The smile faded, replaced by worry lines and confusion.

 

Id poked her on the nose. “Stop that.”

 

She blinked in surprise. This was  _ so _ weird. So... un-Glen-like. But it made her laugh.

 

Id grinned. “Better.” He sniffed. “What...is that?”

 

"What's wh-- oh." Ren caught the scent, too. Something smelled  _ delicious _ . "I don't know, but I want some." She went back to the battlements, peering over the edge. Down below, a shutter had been thrown open. Who would open the shutters in weather like this? "I think we're being lured back to the kitchen," she added.

 

Id’s grin widened. “Then….go. Never…..tasted. Fun to try.”

 

"Yes!" She'd forgotten about the everything-is-new situation. She grinned back at him. "Whatever smells like that is going to be your new favorite thing. Or first favorite thing. Or... nevermind. You'll love it. Come on!" She crossed to the trap door and lifted it, holding it open and gesturing downward.  Id followed, and practically leapt downstairs, taking steps two at a time.

 

The smell grew stronger as they descended. Sweet, yeasty, with a distinct spicy scent Ren didn't recognize. When they reached the kitchen, it was to find Cassiel sitting at the battered table with flour in his hair and Freki at his feet. He had some kind of spiral pastry on his plate, well on its way to being demolished.

 

The other dog, Saxon, barked mightily, and Id petted it before looking towards Joakim, who was taking a tray of the pastries out. The god set the tray on the table, next to another, and nodded, taking off a pair of pink oven mitts. “Cinnamon rolls,” he said cheerily.

 

Id grabbed his own pastry, and sank his teeth into it happily. He stopped dead, eyes wide, and ever so slowly chewed the piece in his mouth.

 

"I take it it's good?" said Ren, smiling. She peeled a 'cinnamon roll' away from its fellows and looked at it. Heavy pastry rolled in on itself with some kind of gooey sugar mix between the layers, drizzled with a thick white topping. Smelled incredible.

 

Tasted...

 

Ren shared Id's moment of wide-eyed surprise. Then she smiled. Doughy, sweet, buttery, and what was that  _ spice _ ? This was _ her _ new favorite thing.

 

Also Cassiel's, apparently, as he helped himself to a second one.

 

" _ Joakim _ ." It was a major sacrifice to stop and speak instead of taking another bite, but important things had to be said. "This is amazing. I've never had anything like it!"

 

“Not on  _ this _ world,” the god replied. “Found it and the spice on others.”

 

That wasn't enough to postpone her second bite, but it was enough to make her pause -- after sufficient savoring -- before her third, and ask, "You make paths to other  _ worlds _ ?" That wasn't part of the lore. At least, not the lore she knew, which she had learned differed somewhat from the stories told about him in other areas.

 

Lore. Because he was  _ a god _ . Part of her brain continued to stick a little every time she remembered that. All the more so when she was standing here, chatting with him in his kitchen, enjoying baked goods made with spices that came from another world entirely.

 

He nodded. “Some. They're there. Can't make new ones.”

 

"Long way to go for baking ingredients." She looked at the roll in her hand. "But worth it." She took another bite.

 

Id made an inarticulate noise of pleasure as he finished off his roll, and reached for another. He moved close to Cassiel to do so.

 

Cassiel looked up, watching Id for a moment. Then he dropped his eyes. He put his roll down and pushed his plate away, losing interest. Ren sighed. He had to be  _ really _ upset, to turn down sweets.

 

Id looked at Cassiel, and frowned, pulling up a chair next to him. 'Still care’, his hands signed. 'Love.’ He tapped his chest. 'Look’.

 

The unfocused cast that settled in Cassiel's eyes told Ren that he  _ was _ looking. Not with his eyes, but with his Sense. Seeing the Essence. She felt a momentary pang of loss, and envy; it was still hard, not being able to do that herself anymore. But the feeling was replaced by sympathy as she watched Cassiel's face change. How could a smile look so relieved and so sad at the same time?

 

'Love', Cassiel signed back to Id. But then, slowly, 'Glen stuck'. A pause. 'Can't fix', 'can't help'. He stopped, fingers poised for a long moment, before little hands finally shaped the words 'my fault'.

 

Id shook his head, and folded Cassiel into a hug.  Cassiel wrapped his arms around Id, hugging him back, clinging to him. He buried his face in Id's shoulder, so Ren couldn't see his expression, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders.

 

“There are empty rooms on the third floor,” Joakim said into the silence. “If you will stay.” He shrugged. “Finding those who are against the Brethren is rare. Finding those who fight and still live rarer still.”

 

Ren looked up. She'd half forgotten what it was that had brought them here. "These 'Brethren'," she said. "That man in the town we just left. Who are they?  _ What _ are they?"

 

“Godslayers, mindslayers, a thousand men and one,” Joakim said, rubbing the stump of his shattered horn. “They hate magic that is not theirs, so they try to take it for themselves. They tried to take mine, and nearly did.”

 

A slow shiver crawled up Ren's spine. "Why? What do they want? Why do they hate magic?"

 

“Power. Fear gives them a hold. If they make others fear magic....”

 

Id nodded. “Many….do the same.” He shrugged. “We...killed many, like that.”

 

"The barrier we came through to get here… is it theirs? How far does it go? How much of this place do they rule?” A land as vast as this couldn't  _ all _ be under a single governance. That would be like one court ruling all the islands. Too much space. Impossible to hold.

 

“Yes. They rule all within it. It encircles all of Finyar.” He made an expansive gesture. “They have for nearly six centuries.”

 

Ren shook her head. " _ Centuries _ ?” That meant they’d probably had control for as long as this land had been hidden. “In all that time, no one's been able to fight back?" 

 

A hidden kingdom, unchallenged for six hundred years, building their own magic and destroying everyone else's... "What have we walked into?" she said faintly.

 

“Trouble,” Joakim said.

Id made a growling sound that made his agreement clear.

 

Wonderful.

 


	7. Outside and an Amber Alert

Lord General Arthur Bretonius Cidet had seen and done a great many things in his century-long career. Many of them would never be brought to light. Many more would remain deeply classified until he and everyone else involved in them were at least two generations dead and buried. And yet he’d never seen a situation quite like this.

 

“So, let me see if I understand this correctly.”

 

The Shikanen officer nodded.

 

“You lost track of Carviss’s diplomatic team.” And that wasn't at all surprising, the man attracted trouble like a magnet did iron filings.

 

A nod.

 

“You then decided to investigate, and rapidly crashed a corvette into the barrier that was already in place.”

 

Another nod.

 

“Whereupon you decided to start  _ shooting at it. _ ”

 

Another nod.

 

“ _ Why? _ ”

 

The Shikanen shuffled awkwardly. “We wanted to breach it.”

 

“Obviously, but why did you  _ keep firing _ ?”

 

A shrug.

 

Cidet sighed. Some days, he wondered if freeing the Shikanen had been worth the headache. “So you finally gave up, and came here? Was it for more firepower?”

 

The Shikanen shook his head. “No.  _ Altar Menn _ is inside that barrier. It will fall eventually. We ask for the Commonwealth's support when it does, if it be needed.”

 

“We  _ are _ allies. You have it.”

 

The Shikanen stood, and bowed deeply. “That is all, then.”

 

###

 

Cassiel liked Id. When Id looked at him, Id’s not-seen was a warm, radiant glow of  _ love protect keep _ . And it was familiar in other ways too. If Cassiel had Id, then he still had part of Glen, and it was a part he felt like he knew.

 

But it wasn’t the same.

 

The not-seen around Id was layered, just like it had always been around Glen. The part that belonged to Id was the brightest, and the part Cassiel knew now was Not-Glen underlaid it. And the third part, the one that  _ Glen _ made… it was there, but it was still and quiet, like sleep. Buried deep underneath the other two.

 

Cassiel didn’t know how to call it out on his own. The Sparks couldn’t help; they were wound down so small and tight that he couldn’t even hear them, still hurting from their fight with the storm-barrier. And Joakim, who was a god and everything, had tried to help, and it hadn’t worked.

 

It  _ hadn’t worked _ .

 

Everyone kept saying that Glen would wake up on his own. But Cassiel had waited all day, while Ren and Id talked with Joakim about the Brothers, while they looked at maps of Finyar, while Joakim made dinner and Ren tried to plan and Id got excited about something called fettucine, and then about snow when they went out to take care of the stots and there was enough snow on the ground in the castle yard that Id could introduce the rest of them to the concept of the snowball.

 

That had been pretty fun, actually.

 

But through it all, Cassiel had watched for any sign, any hint, that Glen was waking up. There hadn’t been even one.

 

Cassiel pulled the blanket over his head, shutting out the unfamiliar room and the long day. It was nice of Joakim, to let them stay here, but Cassiel wished there had been fewer rooms, so that he wouldn't have had to be alone in the shifting shadows with only his own worries and fears for company. He thought about sneaking into the room Id had taken, and sleeping next his bed like he would have done with Glen. But that idea only made him feel worse.

 

Then he heard panting. He peeked out from under the covers, and there was Freki, standing beside the bed, watching him. Cassiel blinked at him. Freki sniffed him, then whined softly. Cassiel scooted over, and Freki jumped up on the bed and lay down, a warm presence at Cassiel’s side. Cassiel put his hand on the dog, smoothing the fur around his ears, patting his head. Freki sighed contentedly, and quickly fell asleep. Before he knew it, Cassiel did, too.

 

_ In the dream, as in life, Cassiel follows his father through the darkened halls of Greenstone. His father doesn’t know he’s there. But then Cassiel slips up, and comes around a corner too soon, and his father spots him. _

 

_ “Daka! What are you doing here? Go--” but he doesn’t say ‘home’. He stops, looks quickly around the hall, and ushers Cassiel into a nearby room. It’s some kind of sitting room, all fancy chairs and little tea tables, and Cassiel’s father leads him to a shadowed corner and tells him to sit. _

 

_ “Not a word, Daka, okay? You must be quiet.” Cassiel looks up at his father’s face, half soft moonlight and half shadows, and nods. “Wait here. I’ll come back for you.” _

 

_ In life Cassiel waited all night, but his father never returned. A maid found him in the morning, and after that life became an incomprehensible whirl. Adults tried to explain things to him that he didn’t want to hear; they asked him questions he didn’t have answers to. People whispered back and forth over his head, giving him long looks full of pity, or regret, or other, less charitable, things. There were several short-lived fosterings with various families, before his refusal to speak finally landed him with Ebarro and the other “troublesome” orphans that no one wanted. _

 

_ That had been bad enough. The dream was worse. _

 

_ In it, Cassiel doesn’t wait. He goes looking for his father. He can’t find him. Just empty rooms and empty hallways, one after another, until his legs grow tired and his feet start to hurt. All he wants is to stop in his tracks and lay down right where he is. But every time he thinks this, the shadows around him  _ move _. Someone -- or some _ thing _ \-- looks out at him, an indistinct figure with ragged edges and icy blue eyes. It drives all thoughts of staying put from his mind. _

 

Forest. Nothing but trees in every direction. Cassiel didn’t remember waking up. He didn’t know where the dream had ended and reality had begun. Which way had he come from? The sky, just visible through the dense canopy overhead, was beginning to lighten; it was nearly morning. He must have walked all night. It certainly felt that way. He was so tired his head felt light, and so cold that he feet were numb. At least he had shoes on, although no socks. And no gloves, or scarf. He shivered.

 

There wasn't much snow where he stood, though he could see white caught in the pine boughs overhead and there was frost on the trunks surrounding him. The air had a chill bite to it. He knew he should keep moving. Try to find his way back. He should--

 

A soft, hollow voice whispered at the very edge of Cassiel’s mind. It wasn’t his father’s voice, but it used his father’s words.

 

“Wait here. I’ll come back for you.”

 

Alone in the forest, Cassiel waited.


	8. Glen makes new friends

Glen woke with a groan. His head was killing him, he was in an unfamiliar room, and he had no idea how he’d-

**[Ran free. Here.]**

He jumped out of the unfamiliar bed with a start. _Id had been running free?_

Oh god….what had happened?

**[Listen. Full soul, not a part.]**

What…

**[Can be more.]**

Did that mean….

**[Can love. Can care.]**

He closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out. Alright. What had happened?

Memories burst in on him. The shuttle crash, the programming taking over, itself as strong as Id. The fight with the Brethren, the fear in the rider’s eyes beforehand. Their flight, their meeting with Joakim. Id…. _playing_ , enjoying food and company. The situation they were in. He straightened, and began dressing quietly, before heading out and down the stairs.

 

He found Ren in the kitchen, with a plate of half-eaten pancakes pushed to one side and a map of Finyar in front of her on the table. She glanced up as he came in. "Morning," she said, making it sound almost like a question.

 

He nodded. “Morning,” he said, with a slight smile. “Sorry about yesterday.”

 

Ren blinked, then smiled broadly. She got up and caught him in a hug. "Welcome back," she said, voice just a little unsteady.

 

He hugged back. “Damn near had a heart attack when Id told me he’d been running free,” he said quietly. “Guess Cassiel fixed _everything_ when he brought me back.”

 

Ren nodded. "Poor kid, I think he spent most of yesterday thinking he _broke_ something when he brought you back. He must have been thrilled to wake up to you being you again." She smiled, and looked past him. "Where is he? Didn't he come down with you?"

 

He froze. That wasn't good. “No. I thought he was with you?”

 

"No," said Ren, shaking her head. "I checked his room when I got up, but he wasn't there. I thought he must have gone to your room."

 

**[Oh shit.]**

Glen felt a peculiar icy calm spread through his veins. “Then we should get looking for him,” he said evenly. “Right now.”

_[Mission failure is unacceptable. Locate and guard at once.]_

 

"I'll start upstairs," said Ren, heading for the steps. “I don't know where Joakim-”

 

The deity appeared in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
"went, but- Oh. Joakim, have you seen Cassiel?"

 

Joakim shook his head. “I have searched, and cannot find him.”

 

 _Very_ not good.

 

Ren's eyes went wide. "Searched... the castle? What about outside? Where... how far..."

 

“Cannot have gotten too far. Little legs. Saxon and Freki will find the trail,” Joakim said. “But the Brethren capitol is near. I cannot follow. They will find me, and…” He broke off, and shivered harshly.

 

"No, it's alright Joakim, you stay here," said Ren. "You're right, he can't have gone far. We'll look for him. He should be easy to track in the snow, right?" She had stopped on the steps when Joakim appeared, but now she continued up them. "Let me grab my coat. I hope he took his..."

 

Less than a minute later she was back, wearing her coat... and scowling. "He did, but... not this." She held up Cassiel's kukri, in its sheath. "It was on his nightstand." She looked, if it was possible, even more worried than before.

She was right to be. Cassiel would have sooner left his own arm behind as the kukri.

Which probably meant he hadn't left willingly. He frowned. “Let's get going,” he said quietly, taking the kukri.

 

If there had been tracks in the castle yard, they had been covered over by snow. But the dogs, Freki in the lead, sniffed their way straight across to the gate and out onto the mountainside. He and Ren followed, running to keep up.

 

The dogs led them down to the treeline, then into the forest, where they were forced to slow. It was amazing how far Cassiel had gotten. He must have been gone at least a couple hours, and moving the whole time. They got confirmation, however, that he had indeed been on foot. Prints turned up in the snow here and there under the trees, where new snowfall and wind had not managed to obscure the tracks.

 

Eventually the dogs stopped, in a stand of trees so thick that snow had not been able to penetrate beneath them. Frost rimed the ground, and in it there were prints. A small set, pacing the area. A larger set, only there for a few steps. And a set of cloven hoofprints.

 

Only the hoofprints continued away into the trees.

 

Freki barked and followed them, and Glen followed him, Ren on his heels. They came, just a dozen meters on, to a road. The snow there was churned with a confusion of prints. Riders, a double column of them by the looks of it. The prints they'd followed vanished in among the rest.

 

“Looks like a mounted patrol,” he said, for Ren's benefit. “Outrider found him, brought him back to the main column.” He pointed down the road. “I'm going to need a disguise, if we want to get him back without spilling blood.”

 

Ren nodded. "I have something for that. But we need our gear. We'll have to g--" Before she could finish, the world _twisted_ around them, and they and the dogs were back in Joakim's kitchen.

 

“That works,” Glen said, nodding to Ren. “Grab what we need.”

 

She dashed upstairs, and came back with their weapons, packs, and two more items: an eye patch and broad-brimmed hat. "No one will notice you don't have horns, but they might notice you don't have... scars." She shivered. "And they'll definitely notice the eye."

 

He nodded, and smiled. It was good to have someone prepared. He put on patch and hat. It messed with his peripheral vision, but his artificial eye could compensate. “Thanks. Now let's go find our boy.”

 

Another _twist_ of space, and they and Freki were back at the road. A moment later, their three stots appeared, saddled and ready. The dark brown one [ _It is named Tooth._ ] gave them a bland, _Oh, is this what we're doing now?_ look.

 

“Thank you, Joakim," said Ren, softly.

 

Freki barked, and started down the road. The mutt had the right idea. Glen mounted Tooth, taking up the grey stot's lead rope once he had his seat, and began to follow. Ren mounted the last stot and came after them.

 

They rode quickly, not the wild bounding of the memory supplied by the programming, but a fast, springy gate that ate ground rapidly. Even so, they rode for nearly an hour before he heard the first sign of their quarry up ahead.

 

These were good operators- even in the heart of the country, they road with every flank covered. A lone stot rider looked over his shoulder, spotted them, and spurred his steed into a leaping gallop, disappearing from sight. As they drew closer, the rest of the column became visible. Nearly two hundred men. Possibly an even two hundred if the outriders were numerous. He began to scan the column, searching desperately for his boy.

There seemed to be a disturbance near the front, where the outrider that had spotted them was talking with some others. He nodded to himself, and spurred Tooth past the column and forward.

 

At the head of the column, he found a group of four. The outrider who had spotted them, a man with the obvious air of being the one in charge, and another man, riding beside the leader, with a small figure riding double with him. The last wriggled, trying to slide off the stot, but the man riding with him held him firmly in place.

 

His heart soared. Not far now. He rode ahead, stopping Tooth in front of the leader. He stared the man down.

 

The leader turned, meeting Glen's stare calmly.

 

"So they are," he said, nodding to the outrider as Ren rode up beside Glen.

 

Cassiel saw Glen and his face lit up. He struggled harder. The soldier -- they _were_ soldiers, armed with cavalry swords, lightly armored -- holding him tried to calm him. "Take it easy, half-size," he said quietly. "That who you thought it would be, huh? Well just wait a minute, just wait..."

 

The leader spoke. "Hello, stranger. Judging by his reaction, and yours, I'd guess you're looking for the boy here?"

 

He nodded. “Our thanks for finding him. Much easier to look for many, and there are dangers in the woods.”

 

"Dangers indeed." The man looked him over. Carefully. Ren, too. Even the riderless stot got a good once-over. "Especially out here. Long way from anywhere, these parts."

 

“Except the capitol,” Glen pointed out. “Of course, that _is_ far from most of the important bits.” He shook his head. “But nevermind. Just let us go back.”

 

“Back where, if you don’t mind my asking?” Casual tone. Overly so.

 

“South, if possible. If not….” He shrugged. “Wandered before. Would prefer not to, but I’ll do what I have to,” he said, adding just enough emphasis to make it clear he didn't mean wandering.

 

"Mm. No, ah, travel papers, I take it?"

 

“None.” He let his hands drop to his belt, one resting on his kukri, the other on the just-visible butt of his holstered pistol.

 

The leader’s eyes narrowed. Glen heard a faint creak, and a quick glance toward the column revealed three riders with crossbows aimed at him. They were quick.

 

"I would much prefer not to redden any of this nice, white snow," said the leader, still speaking at a conversational volume, though minus the casual tone. "Maybe, instead of reaching for your weapons, you'd like to talk first? For all I know, you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you're in a place you  _ shouldn't _ be, without the documents you  _ should _ have. If so, I’d genuinely like to hear it."

 

“I'm pretty damn certain you wouldn't believe a word of it,” Glen said, feeling that icy calm fill him again. Freki growled low in his throat.  Several of the Demeki glanced at the dog warily.

“Give Cassiel back. I won't ask a second time.”

He watched the angles. He could _ probably _ draw and drop the leader and the crossbowmen before they managed to loose. Rest of the column would be a problem.

 

Ren spoke. "We aren't from here," she said. "We came through a storm, our ship crashed... I have no idea how we even survived. Please, we don't know the rules here, we don't mean to be breaking them. We're just trying to find a way home."

 

The leader listened to this with a carefully neutral expression, and remained quiet for a long moment after. Finally he said, "You're outsiders." Not a question. "Outsiders don’t get here without magic."

 

Ren made a helpless gesture. "Whatever got us through..." As if she didn't know, as if the source weren't embedded in the very child the soldiers already had ahold of, "It's the only reason we're alive. But we're not magic users ourselves. I don't know how to prove that to you, but..." She shrugged.

 

Another long pause. Then the leader made a quick hand signal, and the crossbowmen lowered their weapons. Cassiel tried again to escape his keeper, and grimacing in distress when he couldn't. At a nod from the leader, the man holding him let him go, and Cassiel jumped down. He ran to Glen.

 

Glen dismounted in a flash, scooping the boy into a hug, holding him tight. Freki crowded close, licking the boy’s face.

**[Good.]**

 

Cassiel hung on to him like he thought Glen was going to vanish if he didn't. He was shivering, and Glen got the feeling it was not just from the cold.  His response was to hold him tighter, striving wordlessly to drive out whatever had frightened him so much.

 

The column leader watched them in silence for a moment, then said, "You're in the foothills of the Hardscrapes. There's nothing out here but wilderness. Even this road only exists because we veer north to sweep this area on our way by." He eyed their supplies. "You don't have what you'd need to stay here, not in this season. And you can't resupply without entering a settlement, which you also can't do, because you have no papers. Unless there's something you aren't telling me--" his look hinted that he rather thought there was, "--it seems like you could probably use some help."

 

He looked up at the man. “And who would offer it? I have a pretty damn good idea of how your people treat anyone with the slightest hint of magic about them. We’d be killed in our sleep, at best.”

 

The leader dismounted and walked over to them, stopping far enough away to neither pose a threat nor invite one. "I offer it. I and my men. You're not wrong; the very fact that you came through the barrier, regardless of how, stands you in a bad light. But..." he hesitated, looking them over again. "Contrary to common belief, not all who are touched by magic are tainted by it." He smiled. "If you had foul intentions, I expect you would have been more subtle. Or at least had a better cover story."

Glen stared him down. His offer was honest. Incredible. “Ren?” he asked. Her choice. He’d made too many wrong calls in his life to decide to put people he loved in danger.

Ren gave him a,  _ Who, me? _ look. Then she looked at the soldiers. "What kind of help are you offering?"

"We'll take you to the city, and get you in without a fuss. From there... there are places in Prizton where, let's just say, people know how to keep their heads down and their mouths closed. If there's help for you, you'll find it there. And if not, at least you'll be about as safe as you ever can be, all things considered."

Glen could see Ren weighing this. Trying to beg off so they could go back to Joakim might turn these people against them. And it wouldn't do them much good, anyway; the broken deity had already given them all the help he could. The city, the very capital of this corrupt place, might be the most dangerous place they could go. But it might also be the only place where they could accomplish anything. And this their only chance to get there.

 

She looked at him, and nodded.

 

“Then we'll follow,” he said to the leader, standing.

 

The man nodded. "Good." He stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Bara, Captain of this ragged band of do-nothings." Several good-natured protests arose from the men near enough to hear. “We’re the Sixth Company of the Long Patrol.”

 

Glen shook his hand. “Glen Carviss. Part ambassador, part security. Former Operative of the Conclave of Shikan.”

 

"Renma," said Ren, dipping her head. "Also an ambassador."

 

Bara raised an eyebrow. "Ambassadors? I never imagined the lands outside the barrier being that... stable." He looked thoughtful. "This 'Conclave'. Have they tamed the magic on that side, as our Brethren do here?"

 

“It's a _long_ story,” he said. He didn't want to try to explain the sheer insanity that had brought Commonwealth and Confederacy to Domhan in the first place, let alone technology in general. Best to tell a technical truth. “But, magic? None of my people have had much use for it. We build things that work better than it on a daily basis, and won't mess you up in the process. There's some extremely powerful practitioners, but they're almost all under command of normals.”

 

This information obviously surprised Bara. "Really? That's... quite the state of affairs." He looked away up the road for a moment, then nodded. "There are people in the city who are going to be _very_ interested to meet you."

 

“Interested, or 'interested’?”

 

A frown creased Bara's brow. "Both,” he admitted. “But don't worry. We'll do what we can to make sure only the former actually get to make your acquaintance."

 

He nodded. “Lead the way.”

  



	9. Our heroes go through customs

They got their first view of the city Bara called Prizton as the road the Long Patrol followed finally left the hills and valleys along the base of the mountain range and turned toward a great, flat expanse --  _ so much space _ , going on and on all the way to the horizon -- of forested land. The city lay coiled within the curve of a broad, rushing ribbon of water, itself dwarfing any stream Ren had ever set eyes on.

 

From this distance, atop the last ridge before the ground sloped down and leveled out, she could clearly see the concentric rings of the city’s construction. A thick outer wall of dark stone, containing a city of narrow streets and wooden buildings -- blocky things with sharp edges, steep roofs, and lots of points, similar in style to what they'd seen in Bernswall -- giving way as it progressed inward to bigger buildings of the same dark stone as the outer wall, gridded by broader streets and large, open squares. Then another wall, this one pale and very tall, and inside that... another  _ city _ , a smaller, grander one, all pale stone and colored glass and the glint of gold, large enough that the whole of Greenstone island could have fit within its walls. It only served to emphasize how  _ massive _ the place as a whole was.

 

She’d never seen anything like it, and said as much to Glen. “This is incredible,” she breathed. “Just… I never imagined a place like this. Everything in the south… suddenly seems so tiny.”

 

Glen chuckled quietly. “You should see the things we built back home. You know enough about us to guess.”

 

She nodded. In her mind's eye, she tried to multiply the sight before her into something even bigger, teeming with even more people. Like the world Glen came from. It was more than she could wrap her head around.

 

“She's a sight, isn't she?" said Bara, joining them at the back of the column. "Although, I didn't actually stop here just for the view."

 

Glen looked him over. “Your plan relies on disguise. We'll need to don them well outside the sight of anyone that isn't you and your men. And since we're headed onto a main road…”

 

"Right," said Bara. "This is the last place we can safely stop, so it's our last chance to make ourselves 'presentable', as it were."

 

Glen nodded. “So what is it?”

 

"Part of our job is to pick up strays in the countryside and bring them in with us," Bara explained. "Ordinarily we would turn them over to city authorities. In this case we have a different destination in mind, but to get you through without papers, we essentially need to bring you in as criminals."

 

Glen shrugged. “Not too far from the truth, by your laws at any rate. Sure.” 

She saw the tightness around his eyes, and the almost unnoticeable wariness in his expression. He didn't like this, not one bit.

 

Bara smiled. "Well, I always preferred a half truth to an outright lie." He nodded to Cassiel. "Your boy will ride with one of my men; we'll call him a foundling. All too common, sad to say, so no one will remark on it. Shift your gear to the grey there, and we'll mix her in with our own pack animals. And as for you two..." He held up two short coils of rope. "You can stay on your mounts, but we'll tie your hands and lead your stots ourselves. That going to be alright with you?"

 

Ren decided she didn’t like it, either.

 

Glen nodded slowly, and held out his hands.  Bara bound Glen's wrists together, and handed Tooth's reins off to another soldier. He approached Ren, and she let him do the same to her. She felt her heartrate pick up as the rope tightened around her wrists, although Bara didn't really tie it all the tightly. She followed Glen's lead and did her best to hide her unease.

 

The soldier that Cassiel had ridden with before joined them. "You ride with me again, half-size," he said to Cassiel. Cassiel dismounted only reluctantly, and as Bara lifted him into the other soldier's saddle, Freki whined softly.

 

"Your... ah... furry friend there isn't going to be able to follow," said Bara, eyeing the dog. Freki looked straight at him, tipped his head, and then turned and trotted off into the trees. Cassiel startled. "Freki!"

 

The dog didn't come back. Cassiel tried to get down, but the soldier he rode with stopped him.

 

“He’ll find his way back,” Glen said soothingly. 

 

Cassiel subsided unhappily. He was even more unhappy when the soldier he rode with headed to the front of the column, while Glen and Ren remained at the back.

 

They were relieved of their weapons -- although only the visible ones -- and their packs, all of which was loaded onto Cassiel's grey stot and then obscured by the addition of extra packs and other supplies. That done, Bara signaled his men, and the column began to move again.

 

The city disappeared as they continued down into the forest and joined the main road, and when they saw it again, it was, if anything, even more impressive. And ominous. Because from level ground and shooting distance, it was nothing but  _ wall _ . Massive, dark, towering,  _ looming _ , with three dark tunnels, gated at either end, leading through to the city beyond. Lines of traffic -- merchant wagons, passenger carriages, people on stots or on foot or in kark-drawn carts heavy with goods; all of them, she noticed, traveling in groups -- waited on the road for inspection by the small army of guards attending the gates. They presented paperwork, and some submitted to searches and interviews, before they were admitted through those long tunnels.

 

Bara bypassed the crowd, leading the column to the leftmost tunnel, which seemed to be reserved for specific kinds of traffic. Ren watching him converse with the guards there, exchanging paperwork and answering questions she couldn't hear from so far away. Then he and two of the guards walked the length of the column as the guards performed a blatantly cursory inspection. One guard glanced at Glen and Ren.

 

"That them?" he asked. Bara nodded. The guard made a note on the writing board he carried, and moved on.

 

It was over in just minutes, and then the guards were waving them ahead, into the tunnel.

 

Ren kept her head down as they passed through, and didn't have to pretend to look nervous and upset for the guards. She  _ was _ nervous and upset, as she realized that once they were through these gates, they probably weren't going to be able to leave.    
  
Not without help.

 

Glen seemed to realize it too, as his one uncovered eye darted from place to place even as he held his head low watching the guards.

 

On the other side of the wall, the tunnel let them out into a large square. Ahead of them, a broad road paved in pale stone cut straight through the city to the second wall and another gate, this one leading into the city-within-the-city at the heart of this place. Long before they got close, however, the column turned aside, into a narrower roadway. The soldiers leading Glen and Ren's stots moved toward the middle of the column, and the riders on either side closed in, blocking them from sight of the crowded streets. One soldier reached over and casually released first Glen's hands, then Ren's, so smoothly that Ren wasn't sure how he'd even done it. One moment her hands were bound; the next they were free and holding the reins of her stot. It was a remarkable relief; she hadn't realized how much the restraint had been bothering her until it was gone.   
  
Then there was the soldier with Cassiel, and there was the grey stot with their gear, whose lead rope found its way into Glen's hand. Bara dropped back beside them. "Go with Olifer," he said. "He'll get you where you need to be."   
  
"Thank you," said Ren. Bara nodded.   
  
The line of riders on their right opened briefly, and the soldier with Cassiel -- Olifer, apparently -- led them through. They fell into a stream of traffic flowing away down another, even smaller, side street, while the rest of the column closed ranks and continued on, out of sight.


	10. Glen learns the rules

Magda sat outside her shop, enjoying a breath of fresh air. Not that the air in this part of Prizton was particularly fresh, but it was better than the depths of her shop, which reeked of dyes and wet cloth. Wet wool, especially, wore on the senses after a while. On the plus side, the stench kept any guardsmen who decided to make an inspection from looking too closely.

 

She watched the crowd as it ebbed and flowed along the street. It was second nature by this point, to always be scanning faces, watching hands, looking for signs of trouble. Had to be. Above and Below.

 

Most of the crowd here were on foot, which made the sudden appearance of a group on stots impossible to miss. The man in the lead wore the uniform of the Long Patrol, and for a moment she tensed. Then she recognized Olifer, one of Bara's boys, and relaxed. But only some.

 

Behind him was a man in a broad-brimmed hat that shaded his face almost enough to hide the darker shadow of an eyepatch over one eye. The way he held himself, the subtle way he surveyed the street and watched the crowds, even the way he kept his head tilted just right to keep his features in shadow -- this one bore watching. _Close_ watching.

 

Riding double with the one-eyed man was a little boy, small and wiry and too wary of expression for one so young. The way he leaned back against the man, though, sheltering in his arms, raised the one-eyed man in her estimation somewhat.

 

Riding beside them was a woman, with short, dark hair and watchful eyes, tension in her shoulders. While the one-eyed man kept his gaze mostly ahead, the woman watched around and behind. Between them, Magda doubted there was much that escaped notice.

 

They did not, for example, fail to notice the brief but pointed look Olifer gave her as he guided them past, or her nod in response.

 

Olifer led them on down the street, then turned into the alley that would take him around behind the row of shops. Magda sighed, went into her shop and out again through the back door. Into an alley that, as luck would have it, didn’t have a single window overlooking the rear of her shop. Handy, that.

 

By the time she reached it, the one-eyed man had already dismounted, and was busy rummaging through the packs of the one stot that lacked a rider. He pulled out a large and wickedly curved knife, the canted blade grey and dull. He spun it around on his fingers, before sheathing it, evidently satisfied.

 

Ah, yes. Definitely watching that one.

 

The man nodded to her briefly as he let the child dismount, and bent low to whisper to him. Another blade, sheathed, identical to the man’s, was offered.

 

The boy smiled -- relieved? So it appeared -- and took it. When he put it on it seemed alarmingly large, hanging at the hip of such a small figure. He looked up, and his hands moved, flicking quickly through a series of small gestures. Some kind of communication by signals? The one-eyed man seemed to understand, at any rate.

 

The man nodded, and replied with his own silent series of gestures. The child nodded solemnly. Then hugged him.

 

It was annoyingly contradictory. On the one hand, an obviously positive father-son relationship. On the other, very large knives. Magda shook her head. Why did Bara always send _her_ the complicated ones?

 

Olifer dismounted and approached her with no sign of being appropriately apologetic for his role in bringing such trouble to her doorstep.  
  
"Hello Magda," he said cheerfully. "How are you?"

 

“Not getting any younger,” she snapped back. “Another group of strays?”

 

He nodded. "Found them up in the foothills. But they came a lot farther than that."   
  
The woman overheard this, and turned to them, smiling. It didn't reach her eyes, which remained careful. "I'm Renma," she said. "This is Glen, and that's Cassiel."

 

She nodded, and smiled back. “Magda. Let's get you Below, then we can talk.”

 

Renma hesitated, exchanging a look with Glen. “Below?” she asked, looking at Magda uncertainly.

 

“Where else to hide from prying eyes?”

 

Olifer grinned. "This is what Bara was talking about. Places where people keep their heads down? He _meant_ it." He shrugged. "We got you this far, didn't we?"   
  
After a moment, Renma nodded. "Alright," she said quietly, glancing again at her two companions.

 

The man shrugged. “Let's go. No point in lingering.”

 

Magda waited while they tied their stots to the rail. Those would have to be moved before anyone came across them and started to wonder where their riders were, but that wasn't likely to happen soon. It could wait until she had her new 'guests' settled. And Olifer would stay, until she sent word to him that the new arrivals had been accepted -- or not -- and would handle any passersby who might happen along before then.

 

When they were ready, she led them into her shop. Behind the drying racks in the back room, under a table piled high with bolts of cloth and spindles of ribbon and trim, there was a large basket full of wool roving. Useful stuff, that roving. Bulky, filled the space nicely, distracted well from the fact that there was rather a _lot_ of space under that table, considering how cramped and crammed with goods the rest of the shop was. Also didn't weigh enough to prevent the trap door under it from being opened even when the camouflaging basket of dyed fluff was sitting on it.

 

She led the way down the ladder, and into the tunnels of Below.

 

It was fun to watch first-time visitors' faces as they came down the ladder. People so often expected darkness, raw earth, bugs and cobwebs. But there was none of that down here. She prided herself on it. The tunnels were clean and well-lit. Inviting, even, from a certain perspective. She stood back and waited for the three to descend.

 

The man, Glen, came down first. He didn't bother with the ladder, instead slamming into the tile with barely a bend of the knees, his long coat flaring around him. He looked around quickly, then moved aside, hands at his belt.

 

Magda did not hide her frown. One of those kind, was he? Wonderful.

 

The other two, at least, came down more politely. Neither showed much surprise at the state of the tunnels, though. Only curiosity. And wariness, of course.

 

She began to feel genuinely curious about where these three had come from.

 

"Alright," she told them, gesturing for them to follow as she set off down the underground hallway. "You're my responsibility now, so come with me and we'll sit down and have a talk. I'll explain more then. For now, stick close and don't cause trouble. And whatever you do, don't stare." She glanced back at one-eyed Glen. "That shouldn't be too difficult."

 

Hm. No sense of humor. Well, at least Renma was amused, though she only showed it in a brief quirk of the mouth.

 

She led them through the maze -- an intentional construction of redundant halls and dead ends designed to deter anyone who didn't know their way through -- and into her domain proper. They began to pass people then, the regulars and the full-time inhabitants, and she made no secret of glancing back on occasion to see the new arrivals' reactions. They did well. There were people here with unnaturally colored eyes, people with strange marks on their faces or hands, people with broken or misshapen horns or severed ones. They even encountered Tad, who wore a wrap that couldn't completely hide the grey, scaly skin that covered his right arm from shoulder to fingertip. But the three didn't stare or startle, and though they were all tense and wary, none of them, even it's-sheer-coincidence-my-hand-is-so-close-to-my-knife Glen, showed any sign of open hostility.

 

Good. A point in their favor, then.

 

Eventually they reached her office, and she ushered them in. She invited them to sit as she herself settled in behind the reassuring bulk of her formidable desk. It's size and weight was no coincidence; it had served as cover more than once. Interviews like this one didn't always go well.

 

Glen settled into the chair closest to her, turning it slightly so he had a view of both her and the entrance. Renma positioned herself so that most of her attention was on Magda, but she could watch Glen and Cassiel peripherally. Magda wondered if this tag-teaming was a standing protocol, or something the two of them did naturally.

 

Glen looked to Renma, and nodded.

“So, explanations?” Glen asked. “I can guess what kind of place this is. We're going to be staying here?”

 

"That's what we're here to decide," Magda told him. "But if all goes well, then yes. You'll be given a place to stay, your needs provided for. Not for free. We aren't a charity; you'll do useful work to earn what you get."

 

“So, what do you need to know?”

 

This was the bit where things could start to go sideways. Bara had good instincts, and wouldn't have sent these three if he thought they posed real problems, but it was always possible she might uncover something he hadn't picked up on.

 

"I'm going to ask you things you might be inclined to lie about,” she said, turning to the credenza behind her desk and retrieving the current ledger. “Please don't. You saw as we came in that this place operates under its own rules. If you mean no harm, then you can expect no harm to come to you. And if you _do_ mean harm, you can expect to find yourselves in hot water sooner rather than later, and it will only get hotter if you tell me lies now. Understand?" She said it gently, yet firmly. Making the situation clear without spooking them into doing something stupid was a fine line to walk, but she felt she'd gotten pretty good at it over the years.

 

Glen nodded silently and calmly. “Nothing to gain by lying. Can't say you’ll believe the truth, though. Ask away.”

 

Magda smiled. "You might be surprised. But we'll start off easy. Glen, Renma, and Cassiel... are those your real names? Before you answer: if you want to use aliases, you may, but I still need to have your real names for our records. They’re fully confidential, I can promise you that."

 

Glen exchanged a look with Renma, then nodded. “They are.”

 

She wondered about that glance. But decided to accept his answer. She opened the ledger and started a new page, heading it with the names they’d given.  "Alright, then. And what are your CNs?"

 

“What now?”

 

Stalling? "Citizen Numbers," she said, with slightly exaggerated patience.

 

“You register people by number here?” Glen said, a quiet bite entering his voice.

 

There was no place that _didn't_ ; that was about the clumsiest deflection she'd ever encountered. She sighd. "If you're unregistered, just give me the numbers you've been using to get by. They’re probably on the Lists, and if so we can find out which ones, and possibly even get them scrubbed for you. But I need to know what kind of trail you might be leaving, preferably _before_ anyone follows it here.."

 

“We don't have _any._ Not from here.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Really. And just where are you from?"

 

Glen smiled, and nodded to Renma.

 

Renma looked less than eager to explain. But she said, "We're from the lands on the other side of the barrier."

 

"... What?"

 

"We're ambassadors. When... our people... realized there was something here, they sent us north to see what it was, to establish contact and hopefully make alliances. Then we hit the barrier. We barely made it through alive, and our ship went down in the process. We're stranded until we can figure out how to get back."

 

Maga heard the words, but half of them didn't even register, overshadowed by one concept.

 

Through the barrier. They came _through_ the barrier.

 

What would that take? Class 4, at least. At _least_. Maybe... Maybe even…

 

“And before you start freaking out, no, we didn't use magic to do so.”

 

She looked at Glen. “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “Either you didn’t come through the barrier, or there was magic involved in doing it. One or the other has to be true.”

 

Glen frowned, and rubbed his temple. “You might be right, at that,” he said slowly. “I saw the storm that the barrier had put up. Didn't want to fly through it, so I tried to get away. The damn thing sucked us in, and shut down every system. We were helpless.”

 

“And then?”

 

Glen shrugged. “Crash knocked me unconscious. Memory's….fuzzy. But the trajectory we were on when the storm spat us out….it shouldn't have been survivable.”

 

 _Blight you, Bara, what have you dropped in my lap this time?_ It made sense now. _Something_ had noticed them, and decided to play. If they were lucky, it was something caught within the barrier, that couldn't reach them any longer. If they weren't lucky... then it was only a matter of time before their trouble caught up with them. She sighed heavily. "Have you been marked?" she asked. "Anything appeared on your skin, anything about your appearance changed since this happened?"

 

“Not _since_ , but…” The man sighed, and removed his hat and flipped up his eye patch.

 

Well no wonder he caught something's attention. He'd been touched before. "Did that happen... in the lands beyond? Outside the barrier, I mean?"

 

Glen nodded, mismatched eyes watching. “As part and parcel of saving my life. It's had….deeper effects as well. Nothing dangerous, but...odd.”

 

Saved his life? Perhaps, but that always came at a cost. Often a steep one. So steep, sometimes, that death would have been better.

 

So she wasn't surprised that more than his eye had been changed. She nodded, sympathetic. She'd seen odd. And grotesque. And baffling, surreal, ironic, heartbreaking, and sometimes, inexplicably, beautiful. "Magic leaves all manner of marks and scars on those it touches. Tell me this: do you think yourself endangered, or that you might be a danger to others?"

 

The man shook his head. “Not from that, no. And only dangerous to others if they're looking to hurt me or mine, like any other man.”

 

She nodded again. "Understandable. And, perhaps more so than any other reason, why we're here. Why this place exists. Because unfortunately, all too many people are ready to kill the plant along with the parasite. We all live in magic's shadow, down here. One way or another." She leaned forward, meeting his mismatched gaze. "It's not your fault. And no one here is going to blame you for it. Or hunt you for it. Not Below."

 

Glen let out a long breath. “Alright. Barely a day of this fear was bad enough. How you stand it your whole lives, I don't know.”

 

"You had a place like this, where you came from?" she asked. "To keep you safe after you were marked?" It explained why none of them had been surprised by the tunnels. If they'd been living in hiding for some time, it made sense that they’d seen similar places.

 

The man shook his head. “We didn't _need_ to hide. They don't hunt down people for just being touched by magic, there.”

 

"They..." She blinked, trying to imagine a place where people like him, like any number of her charges, could walk about unmolested. For a moment she wished... But no. That was only sentiment talking. She understood why the system worked the way it did. It was brutal, but it had to be. Leniency bred complacency, and that led to danger, to magic growing unchecked, to more lives lost or twisted because the wrong person slipped the net and escaped notice. The Doorkeepers didn't just provide haven for those deserving of it. They also guarded the shadows, and dealt with the evil that came their way so it couldn't hide among the innocent.

 

Not everyone could be saved. Her job was to be exactly as ruthless as she had to be, in order to protect those who _could_ be helped.

 

"That... must be very hard to sustain," she said.

 

Glen looked to Renma. “How long did Greenstone stand? Do you know?”

 

"I'm not sure exactly," said Renma. "Its copper mines ran out over a century ago, I know that. And they weren't a young Court when it happened."

 

“And it wasn't particularly powerful. The rest of the courts….I saw Hollowheart. That kind of architecture takes centuries of work, even if you had magic to help.” He nodded to her. “Not too difficult to keep going.”

 

"Then... is magic weaker there? Or, your protectors stronger?" That wasn't what she'd always heard. But it had been centuries since the barrier went up, and generations since anyone came through from outside, even assuming such incidents were true and not just rumor. Who knew what had changed?

  
Renma shook her head. "You're all so scared of magic. I don't understand it. Maybe magic here is different? But I..." She hesitated, suddenly reluctant. When she continued, her voice was quiet. "I used to have magic. I was what we call a Weaver. I could see magic, and manipulate it. I did it my whole life, and it never hurt me, or hurt anyone else."   
  
"Used to?" Magda asked. "And what went wrong, then, with this 'safe' magic?"

 

“Nothing happened with the _magic_ ,” Glen said, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. “What _happened_ ,” he said, poison dripping from every syllable, “was that a group of _idiots_ decided to blame her for their trouble. Called her a Taint, a black magic user. We hunted down and killed the one responsible for the problem, and still they wouldn't stop.” He took in a breath, visibly calming himself. “They have a branding device,” he said, voice level and icy. “Burns through the horn, down to the nerves that let you sense magic. The workings activate soon after, and they burn out the entire area of the brain associated with it.” He glared at her, and in his eyes she saw the sort of fury that could char worlds to ash. “The man responsible burned, and Greenstone with him.”

 

Renma turned a little pale as Glen explained, but she nodded. Magda eyed the faint marks at the base of each of her horns, smooth and slightly shiny like new growth; she'd noticed them before, but thought little of them. Could someone who had not only been affected by magic, but actively used it, truly be stripped of it? Disbudding could prevent magic from taking root in children born with a vulnerability to it, but dehorning later in life had never been as effective. Half the time, it made the magic in them even more erratic.

 

Despite Glen's obvious and very strong feelings against this magic-stripping device, Magda could only think that there were times she would have liked to have one. It could have saved lives.

 

"Yes," said Renma softly. "But my magic isn't the point, or what happened because an idiot with a grudge didn’t know when to back down. The point is, it wasn't magic that was behind the awful things that were going on, the things I was blamed for. It was a person. She used the same magic I did; it was only the _way_ she used it that was different. She wasn't corrupted by it, it wasn't some kind of evil force. She made her own choices; she chose to be what she became, to do what she did."

 

Magda shook her head. "Then you're right; magic is different here. It's dangerous. _Anyone_ touched by it pays the price, one way or another, and those that can be helped afterward are the lucky few. Anyone that _uses_ it is corrupted by it. Irrevocably."

 

“Including the Brethren, I’d wager,” Glen said quietly.

 

"The Brothers..." She nodded. "Yes. At the individual level, it destroys them. But together, they are part of a system that can control magic without being controlled by it. I won't pretend to understand how. And any child knows that the Brethren are... cruel. Twisted by the power they wield. But that's part of the cost of having a force capable of standing between us and magic's influence. They're monsters, but they're better than the alternative."

 

“I’d say otherwise, given that a normal man down south can order around practitioners so powerful they can turn planets to cinders without straining, but if it's true that magic corrupts here, then maybe you're right.”

Glen sighed. “Let's get back to the questions. You need Citizen Numbers?”

 

Magda tried to imagine magic that strong... and decided she didn't want to. For one thing, it sounded too extreme to be true. For another, she simply preferred _not_ to think about such things existing just the other side of the barrier. Centuries, the barrier had stood, and nothing like that had ever come through. Whatever might lie on the other side, either the barrier could resist it or it had no inclination to come here. Either way, some thoughts were better left unexamined.

 

She mentally shook herself, and tried to find her focus again. The interview. Right. Yes.

 

"If you haven't been using them, then no. We'll get you new ones, clean ones, that you can use from now on."

 

Glen nodded. “Anything else?”

 

She hesitated, looking them over. She could ask more questions, dig for details. But she knew about all she needed to, to decide what to do with them now. She had three choices.

 

First, to turn them away. That was off the table, of course. It would be irresponsible. Wherever they fetched up, they would bring trouble down on themselves and everyone around them. She couldn't pass the mark like that.

 

Second, to deal with the threat they posed herself. The man was marked, the woman and child tainted by association. Whatever had its eye on them would come for them sooner or later, and even if they survived its attentions, the Brethren would follow soon after, drawn to that same force or entity, whatever it was that had been strong enough to penetrate the barrier. The only way to prevent it was to remove the target. To remove _them_. It was never easy, but she'd done it before.

 

Never to a child, though.

 

Which left her third option. Take them in. Do her best to keep them hidden. And hope that, when this mess came home to roost, she and her fellows would be able to deal with it. Somehow.

 

Bara should have handed them over to the Brethren. That would have been the safe thing. The right thing. But she could understand why he hadn't.

 

It was the same reason she couldn't do the safe thing, either.

 

Not to a family of innocents. Not to a child.

 

Once the decision was made, she set it aside, committing to her path and whatever consequences it might bring. That was all you could do, sometimes.

 

"Ground rules," she said briskly. “Very simple, very few. Most of them are just common sense, but you’d be surprised how _un_ common that is. Don't start fights or trouble, don't steal, never reveal any entrance to Below without express permission. Tell me or one of the other Doorkeepers if you find someone who might join us, or needs our help. We'll help you find an occupation of some kind, but you pay part of your wages back to us to cover your room and board. As I said, we're not a charity."

 

Glen nodded along. "Is that all?"

 

"No. And this is important, so remember it. The Below is very old, and very extensive. There are passages that reach every corner of the city, and I do mean _every_ corner. If you find a passage with the Brothermark on it, go back. If you find a passage that's been closed off, go back. If you find a passage that seems to go anywhere near the center of the city, _go back_ . And stay out of the catacombs _entirely_. There are more kinds of trouble down there than anyone sane wants to deal with."

 

She wasn’t sure which kind of trouble was worse, the disappearances, or that blighted Harwold and his men who she half the time wished _would_ disappear. She realized she was scowling, and tried to relax.

 

“Brothermark? The three circles and eye?” Glen asked. “Just making sure.”

 

"That's right. You probably saw quite a lot of it as you came through the city, on buildings and such? It denotes association with the Brethren. The small marks are simply a seal of approval, meaning that the place or item marked is approved or permitted. Larger marks are a sign of greater involvement; a business the Brethren own or are patrons of, for example. And the Brothers themselves always wear a medallion bearing the mark on it; they’re the only people allowed to do so."

 

She smiled. They were observant, she knew. This was a good test of _how_ observant. "If you were paying attention, you may have noticed an alternate mark as well. There's one over the door of my shop, for example."

 

“Left eye, versus the right everywhere else,” Glen said. “Subtle.”

 

 _Very_ observant, then. She nodded approvingly. "Just so. It's an eye 'looking the other way'. That mark means you've found a Doorkeeper, or somebody connected with one. If you're out in the city and can't get Below, look for that mark to find help."

 

Glen nodded, then stood. “Where’ll we find bunks?”

 

"Oh, we have better accommodations than that. Come, I'll show you."

 

She gave the three as warm and welcoming a smile as she had, as she led them out of her office. But all the while, she could feel the cold stare of trouble fixing on her, as firmly as if she had painted a target on herself and everyone under her care. Just healthy pessimism, of course, good for keeping one on their toes.

 

Nothing more.

 

She hoped.


	11. People make embarrassing assumptions

Cassiel trailed along behind Glen, sticking close, as Magda led them through underground hallways and rooms. He wasn't terribly happy with being underground again, after so many long months of living almost constantly in the warren under Greenstone. These were brighter, though. Finished to look like aboveground hallways. But the lights were all oil lamps. He knew they didn't like magic here, but did they know how much nicer lightstones were? Maybe they would like electricity. Maybe Glen would tell them about it.

 

They came to a door -- that was another weird thing about this place, all the solid doors -- and Magda opened it. "We do have dormitories," she said, "but for families we have rooms like these. You'll still have to eat in the dining hall and use the communal washrooms, but at least you'll have some space to yourselves." She waved them in. "Get comfortable, settle in. I have a few things to see to, but I'll send for you later and we'll talk about jobs. Look around if you like. Head that way and keep turning right, you'll find the dining hall and common rooms. If you get lost, just ask; everyone was new once, they all know this place can be a bit of a maze."

 

She left.

 

Glen closed the door behind them, looking around. The main room was big and comfortable, a large couch and a trio of chairs taking up most of the space. A pair of doors were at the back, side by side. He walked over and opened the one on the left, then it's neighbor. “Bedrooms,” he said. “One child size, one adult.” He chuckled. “Back to one bed in each again.”

 

Ren looked puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes widened a little. "Oh. She must have thought..."

 

Cassiel waited for her to finish, but she didn't. Thought what? And why were Ren's cheeks getting red?

 

Glen nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck. “There's a carpet,” he said. “I can sleep there, if you want.”

 

Ren shook her head. She kind of looked annoyed, although she didn’t sound it when she said, "Of course not. We'll share the bed. It's not... it doesn't have to mean... it's just a place to sleep." She turned redder as she said it, and stared at the floor.

 

Well, yeah it was a place to sleep. That's what a bed was for. Why were they always so weird about sleeping arrangements? Cassiel rolled his eyes. Adults made no sense.

 

Glen seemed frozen, watching Ren quietly for a moment. Then he nodded. “Alright,” he said softly.

 

She glanced up. Cassiel thought she was going to say something, but she didn't. After a moment, she nodded.

 

Glen turned to Cassiel, and motioned to the couch. “Let's talk,” he said.

 

Cassiel went over to the couch slowly. He knew what Glen wanted to talk about, and he wasn't sure he was ready. He still felt shaken, untethered. Even the joy of having Glen back --  _ his _ Glen -- had not driven away the feeling of loss and displacement left by the dream. And by waking up alone, in the woods, with no idea how he got there.

 

He sat down quietly, studying his own knees because he suddenly didn't want to look up.

 

“What happened? Did...did you think I wasn't coming back?” Glen asked, sitting next to him.

 

_ Yes _ , he thought. That was exactly what he'd been afraid of, what he'd been starting to believe no matter how hard he tried not to.

 

"You were hurt," he said. His voice came out very quiet, but at least it came out. "I tried to heal you. But you woke up n- n-" He stopped, and finished with his hands, 'not' 'you'. "I thought I..."

 

“Made it worse, I know,” Glen said. He tapped the side of his head. “They shared what they remembered. When Id told me he'd been running about, I thought the worst had happened. But, Cassiel...when you saved my life, you gave the other parts of me the chance to have souls of their own. Not fragments.”

 

Just like Not-Glen had said. Cassiel and the Sparks had changed things. Made them better? Or worse? "What does that mean? What... will happen?"

 

Glen shrugged. “Don't know, long term. But it means that I don't have to worry about keeping control all the time. They’ll keep you safe as well as I can.”

 

"But that's not..."  _ Not the same, not you, not what I'm worried about. _ He didn't try to say that, in words or signs. He didn't know how to explain.

 

“It's not me, I know,” Glen said softly, “but I'm trying to get you to understand- you made things  _ better _ , not worse.”

 

It didn't feel that way. The dream haunted him.  _ I'll come back for you. _

 

_ But you didn't, Da. I never saw you again. _

 

Glen came back, though.

 

_ This time _ , a small voice in his mind whispered.  _ For now. After what you've done, even he doesn't know what's going to happen. _

 

Cassiel said nothing.

 

“Cassiel,” Glen said quietly. “Was it just that you thought I was gone for good, or was it something else?” He patted the knife at his belt. “I don't think you would have left yours behind, no matter how upset you were.”

 

Cassiel shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to. I dreamed that I... that..." He had to stop. His whole body shook, trembling like he was out in the cold again, in the woods, alone and lost... "I woke up in the woods. I don't know how it happened. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry... I'm--"

 

Glen folded him into a hug, holding on tight. “It's okay.”

 

Hot tears escaped Cassiel's eyes, and he pressed close to Glen, clinging to him. The words were a jumble, spilling out. "I tried to find... but I knew... Only I couldn't stop. It wouldn't  _ let _ me..."

 

“Someone was in your head?”

 

"It was in my dream." He shut his eyes, seeing it again. "I was... looking for my... for my Da. He... He was already…” ‘gone’ “Everything was empty, but I kept looking. If I tried to stop...  _ it _ would come. In the shadows. I had to move, or it would have..." ‘danger’ ‘fear’ ‘bad’ Cassiel didn't know what the ragged shadow would have done. Only that it would have been awful. "It had blue eyes," he said, softly. ‘Watching’ He felt like those eyes might  _ still _ be watching. From some dark corner somewhere, where he couldn't see them. Only feel them.

 

Glen said nothing, simply held onto him tighter.  Cassiel burrowed into the embrace and let the feeling of Glen's arms around him push the dream away. Eventually the shaking went away, and the tears.

 

Glen let go, and handed him a cookie. “Better?” he asked.

 

He took the cookie, and tried to smile. It didn't really work. But he nodded. He did feel better.

 

"Cassiel," said Ren softly, sitting down on his other side. "You were sleepwalking. That's how you ended up in the woods. While you were walking in your dream, you were walking in the real world, too."

 

That could happen? 'Dislike', he signed, with the hand not occupied by the cookie.

 

“Don't like it either, if this blue-eyed bastard was making you do it,” Glen said. “Should we lock your door? It might keep him from taking you anywhere.”

 

Cassiel thought about it. He didn't really like the idea of being locked in his room. He wouldn't be able to sneak into Glen's room during the night, for one thing. But then he thought about where they were staying now, what Magda called the Below. All those hallways. A lot like his dream. He didn't want to 'sleepwalk' anywhere, but especially not there.

 

So he nodded.

 

But... what if the dream came again? What if the shadow person tried to chase him, and he couldn't go anywhere? What would it do to him?

 

He looked up at Glen. Saw the worry around his eyes. And decided not to mention that particular fear. There wasn't anything Glen could do anyway. It was a dream. Glen could protect him from a lot of things, but not from bad dreams.

 

“I'd teach you how to defend yourself from him,” Glen said quietly, “but I can't. Not a telepath. So I’ll give you a bit of advice.” He poked Cassiel in the forehead. “If he shows up, it's  _ your _ mind, not his. Defend it.”

 

Cassiel blinked. “How?”

 

“You ever have a dream that you know is one? Figure out it's a dream, and your will can change it to suit you. Can't help with more than that.”

 

It seemed vague. The only times Cassiel had ever realized he was dreaming  _ while _ dreaming, it had woken him up. Then again, that would work just fine, wouldn't it? So all he had to do, if the dream came again, was remember that it  _ was _ a dream. That didn't seem so hard. He nodded again, feeling surer now.

  
Then he noticed the chocolate chips in his cookie were melting against his fingers, and decided he'd better finish it.


	12. Glen gets employment

"Very prompt," said Magda, as Glen returned to her office in response to a message brought to him by a bright-eyed, one-handed messenger only a few years older than Cassiel. "We're off to a good start already. Have a seat."

 

He took it. The woman worked fast if she already had some jobs lined up.

He waited.

 

"I've checked around," she said, "and it seems there are a few different places I could put you. Why don't you tell me something about your skills and experience, and we'll see which of them would be a good fit?"

 

He smiled very thinly. Wasn't often people  _ asked _ . “Experience? About thirty years in active warfare, another twenty in assassination and spywork, another ten in covert operations. Skills? Assassination, close-quarters combat, sniping, poisoning, aircraft piloting, tank driving, demolitions, interrogation, social manipulation, woodcraft, hacking, aerial combat, survivalist skills, and insurgency.” He paused. “Also, child care.” That last was a new addition. Or a remembered one. The distinction was small.

 

To her credit, the Doorkeeper didn’t run. Or even look like she wanted to run. Although she did look like she suddenly had a headache. For several long seconds she simply stared at him with a pained, almost offended expression. He could almost hear her thinking,  _ What did I do to deserve this? _ Then she took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly.

 

She looked down at the papers on her desk, scooped up almost all of them, and dumped them unceremoniously in a drawer. There was only one paper left.

 

He took it, scanning it quickly. A short note, from a Garth to Magda, asking for a new bouncer.

 

"Garth is a Doorkeeper like myself," she said, all business. "He runs an inn. Not one of the nice ones, you understand. He needs new muscle. The last fellow he had got knifed." She gave him a look. "Very much like babysitting, if the children were all drunk and armed and some measure of criminal. It's perfect for you."

 

“Pay?”

 

"Five half-crowns per night, and a little extra as hazard pay, as your employer sees fit." Seeing that 'half-crown' meant nothing to him, she added, "Not high by overall city standards, but it's generous for the area. More than any of the other positions would have been, and double the lowest one, which would still have been enough to cover your expenses here and have a few coins left over."

 

He nodded. It's not like he had any other choice. “He’ll tell me the rest when I get there, I suppose.”

 

“Right.” She nodded, and turned in her chair, pulling a ledger from the credenza behind her. When she opened it, he caught a glimpse of his name at the top of the page. She added something to what was written below it.

 

“My records?” he asked. “Should I go, to ensure they remain secret?”

 

She huffed. "They're not a secret to  _ you _ . Here." She turned the ledger around.

 

_ Glen -- 9th of Snowmoon, 642 _

 

Different calendar from the one the Courts used. Good to know.

 

_ Family group; accompanied by wife Renma, young son Cassiel (see pages 114 and 115). Brought in by Olifer of Long Patrol, on recommendation of Captain Bara of LP. Intake by Dkp. Magda. _

 

After that, a physical description, including special note of his red eye and lack of horns. It didn't mention the lack of tail; she must not have realized. Apparently he was 'Class 2' and 'Marked'. He had 'Group 2 Accommodations' and 'New Arrival Permissions - Type 3'.

 

Then a notation about his skills, shorthanded by the appropriately ominous phrase, "highly skilled in martial and/or criminal activities".

 

That he was going to work for Garth, and doing what, and what his pay would be. How much of it should be withheld to cover room and board.

 

That was it.

 

He took her quill, added in the lack of tail. Didn't bother changing the bit that put Ren as his wife. A culture like this probably had some extremely strong taboos against unmarried people cohabitating. They'd move the others to separate dorms if he corrected their assumption.

Besides, he did care for Ren. Just couldn't let himself get close. It didn't end well for anyone.

 

He handed the quill back, and turned the ledger back towards her. “When do I start?”

 

"Up to you. I'm sure you'd be welcome right away, if you wanted to go. But if you want to take a day or two to settle in, that's perfectly acceptable. Go talk to Garth when you're ready." 

 

She picked up the slip of paper with Garth's note on it and wrote on the back, then handed it to him. It was a set of directions, involving quite a lot of turns, a brief detour through an aboveground warehouse -- a note, there, 'no one will bother you, just keep moving' -- and then another sequence of tunnels to reach the ladder that would lead him up into the inn's kitchen. 

 

"When you go, ask for Garth, and give him this." She gave him a short length of yellow ribbon. "That's my color. I'll be sending word directly, so he'll already know it was me that sent you, but that's your confirmation."

 

He took it. “I’ll take a few hours, and get a meal. Then go,” he said, standing.

 

She nodded. "Alright. Go ahead, then." He started to leave, but just as he reached the door she called him back. "Glen?"

 

He turned. “Yes?”

 

"If you mention your background to Garth, leave out the time frames." She had two fingers pressed to a spot between her eyes, as if the headache was back.

 

He chuckled, and nodded. Time to see what the kitchens had- he hadn't gotten breakfast, and he was  _ starving. _


	13. New Help and Logical Problems of an ISOT

Ren's interview had been... interesting. Magda had kept asking very pointed questions, but Ren hadn't been able to figure out what she was getting at. She felt certain it had something to do with Glen, though she couldn't guess quite what. In the end, Magda had sighed, looking tired and headachey, and offered her a choice of jobs. 

 

Only one of the options had appealed -- teaching -- but Ren didn't think she was qualified. Magda assured her that anything she could do would be better than what they had now, which was nothing. They'd 'lost' the previous teacher several weeks before. Magda didn't say how. Ren didn't ask.

 

So now Ren had a slip of paper and a job. She headed back to their new living space, feeling a little skeptical about the whole situation.

 

She entered to find Cassiel curled up on the couch with his tablet, reading. She was just about to ask what, when suddenly there was a large, furry shape in the middle of the room that had not been there seconds before.

 

"Freki!" Cassiel launched himself off the couch and practically tackled the dog, wrapping his arms around Freki's neck. Freki barked happily. Ren could have sworn he was grinning.

 

Ren gaped at him. "Freki?"

 

“Huh,” Glen said from behind her. “That was fast.”

 

“What?” said Ren, turning as he came in. “You… expected this?” She remembered him telling Cassiel that Freki would be back, but she hadn't thought he'd meant something like this.

 

“The dog's the companion of a teleporting deity,” Glen said quietly. “Of course he’d be able to follow us  _ somehow _ .”

 

Well. That made sense. But still. "What do we say if someone sees him?"

 

“He’s an exotic pet?” Glen said with a shrug, before moving past her to pet Freki.

 

Ren could only shake her head and laugh. "He is that," she agreed.

 

Glen knelt and scratched Freki’s jaw, smiling slightly. “So, what's your job?”

 

"I'm a teacher?" she said. She didn't mean to make it a question, but couldn't keep the doubt from her voice. "Until someone better comes along, I suppose."

 

“Huh. I think you'll do alright,” Glen said.

 

She smiled. "Thanks. What about you? Did you get an assignment?" Magda's odd behavior returned to mind. "And did Magda ask you any strange questions, when you talked to her? She did me. I felt like there was something she wanted to know, but wouldn't just come right out and say."

 

“I think I scared her when she asked what my skills were,” Glen said quietly. “And yes. Working as muscle at one of the more dangerous inns. Pays well.”

 

That explained some of Magda's questions, at least. No wonder she'd seemed edgy. But Ren frowned. "Wasn't there anything less..." sketchy, exposed, dangerous... Ren knew Glen could take care of himself. But that didn't mean he needed to  _ invite _ trouble.

 

“Life-threatening? Apparently not for someone like me,” Glen said with a smile.

 

Ren couldn't help smiling back. "You should have told her how well you can cook," she said. "Introduce the concept of pancakes and cheer this whole place up."

 

"Yeah!" said Cassiel, never one to miss out if there were going to be pancakes.

 

Glen shrugged. “Don't think that would fit her idea of me in any case,” he said, straightening up. “I’ve got to go, soon.”

 

"Well, she doesn't know you," said Ren.

 

"You have to go already?" said Cassiel. He was still on the floor with Freki, but he got to his feet.

 

Glen nodded. “Need to burn the route into my memory, and that’ll take time.” He ruffled Cassiel's hair. “Stay out of trouble, alright? Only I get to cause havoc.”

 

Cassiel grinned. "I'll try." Freki added a low  _ woof _ , apparently in confirmation.

 

Glen nodded to her, and left, hands in his coat pockets, the very picture of unconcern.

 

"Be careful," said Ren, even though he was already gone. Cassiel glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

 

Ren took a deep breath, and looked down at boy and dog. She waggled her paper at them. "You want a sneak preview of the school?"

 

"Preview?" said Cassiel, wary.

 

"You'll be going, too, of course."

 

Cassiel gave her a look like she'd missed something painfully obvious. "All my lessons are on my tablet."

 

Ren nodded. "True. But your classmates aren't."

 

"I don't have classmates."

 

"Not yet, but you will." She smiled. It wasn't returned. "Come on, don't you at least want to come see it?"

 

'No'

 

Handsigns. She'd pushed too hard. Ren hid her disappointment, and gave him a quick hug and another smile instead. "Okay. Have fun with Freki. But don't go out, alright? We don't know this place yet; you shouldn't wander."

 

He nodded, playing with Freki's ears. Freki wagged his tail.

 

Reluctantly, Ren left them.

 

She followed the directions on the paper Magda had given her, and soon found herself in a room that, despite being spacious and well-lit, honestly didn't seem very inviting. There was a slate board at the front of the room. There were rows of desks in graduating sizes, smallest at the front. There was a bookcase with only a sad few volumes on it, all of them basic primers for students of various levels, nothing remotely interesting.

 

Ren had seen this kind of thing in the Courts. Everything distilled into simplified, easily memorized lessons. Rote. Linear. Dry. Although there, at least, some of the subject matter had been interesting. Here even that was lacking, as if someone had taken the same teaching method and stripped all the content out of it. Nothing left but letters and numbers, no meaning.

 

That was going to have to change.

 

She thought of home. An education in the Reaches didn't happened sitting at a desk. The lessons didn't fit on pages in a primer. She remembered being small, and getting rounded up with a gaggle of other children or pulled aside on her own, whenever someone who knew something wanted to share it. The hunters had taught her to track, handle a bow, clean a kill. Emen, who was village Storyteller when she was small, taught her to read and write, how to make a dip pen, what a memory device was for and how to use one. Her grandmother taught her how to sew and why the histories were important, and her mother taught her to make seedcakes and when to meet people's eyes and when not to. Weaver Sousa taught her to use her magic. There were other teachers, and other lessons, and things she learned on her own and a few things she never did figure out.

 

It wasn't possible to recreate all of that here. But she could do better than this dreary room.

 

The desks had to go; tables would be better, more space to work, to make things, to face each other and talk. Those primers needed company, in the form of real books with actual information in them. And why was this place so drab? It needed color.

 

Ren had her work cut out for her. And she hadn't even met the children yet! Who knew what they would be like?

 

She found herself smiling.

 

###

 

Garth stood behind the bar, watching the room with his arms folded and a masterfully crafted scowl firmly in place. At least three tables were creeping to the top of his trouble list, and he really hoped he wasn't going to have to step in. He was getting too old to be doing that sort of thing himself.

 

Maybe if he called Sans out of the kitchen, the two of them could quiet things down with some good old intimidation. Sans Voice had a mean stare on him, when he wanted to, and he was tall enough to give most fellows pause, even if he was only about as thick as a bean pole. They could--

 

A sharp whistle sounded from the kitchen. One of Sans' signals. Not an alarm, at least. Just a 'come here'.

 

"I'm comin', I'm comin," he muttered, pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. "What?"

 

Then he saw what. A man was climbing up through the trapdoor. The man quickly- and silently- scrambled to his feet, nodding to Garth. He was a fairly short fellow, in a long coat and broad-brimmed hat. One of his eyes was covered by a patch. He held up a yellow ribbon. “You're Garth?”

 

"I am," he said, taking the ribbon. "And you're the new man Magda said she was sending. Got a name?"

 

“Glen.” He nodded in the direction of the common room. “Any trouble?”

 

"Always trouble," said Garth, wry. "Question is only ever whether or not it's going to work itself out, or needs handling."

 

Glen nodded. “Anything special I should need to know before getting started?”

 

“Couple things, yes. First of all, expect fighting. I serve a rough bunch, and it's not out of place. Just don't let them do anything I have to pay to fix. There are regulars; learn to spot them, and don't knock them around unless you really have to. They're useful, and some of 'em have friends in dangerous places. Magda warn you about Harwold?"

 

“No. He's the one in dangerous places?”

 

Garth chuckled. Understatement. "Very. The catacombs are his, and that would be a dangerous place even without his band of thieves and cutthroats inhabiting it. Him and his are more trouble than we could handle if it came to a fight, but they leave us alone if we leave them alone. Might even be we enjoy a connection or two there, as well. Unsavory, but sometimes it's what you need. Regardless, don't antagonize them."

 

Glen nodded. “Won't be any trouble they don't start. Who’ll I have to watch out for?”

 

"You won't be able to spot them; they blend with the crowd. But if you bother someone you shouldn't, they'll let you know. They'll mention Harwold, or one of his circle. Kjoter, Talm, or Alyce."

 

The man’s eye narrowed, but he nodded. “Alright. I start now, I suppose?”

 

Garth smiled. Nice that the man was eager. Hopefully not so eager that he didn't realize what he was getting into. "I sure won't stop you," he said. "Just watch your back. I'd hate to lose you before I even got a decent night's work out of you."

 

The man chuckled. “Ask Magda about my background, that won't be a worry anymore,” he said, stepping out of the kitchen. That sounded... promising? Or ominous? Probably both. With a sigh, Garth followed him through, taking up his customary position behind the bar while the man continued on into the main room.

 

It was a spacious room, if low-ceilinged and dimly lit. The bar dominated the back wall, a long counter running the full width of the room, and the rest of the space was crowded with tables and chairs. More than half were already occupied, though it was early yet. Garth scanned the room, noting that one of the three tables he'd earmarked for trouble earlier was indeed close to crossing from rowdiness into genuine problem territory.

As he watched, one of the men there stood unsteadily, shoving the table aside and sending cards fluttering to the table. Snarling, he pulled a dagger from his belt-- then collapsed as Glen slammed a truncheon into the back of his head, having crossed the room silently in the blink of an eye. The man glanced at the other two occupants of the table, before picking the unconscious man up and slinging him over his shoulders. A few moments later, the man was out on the curb, and Glen was back leaning against the wall.

 

Neatly done. Remarkably fast, and particularly impressive considering Glen wasn't that big of a fellow. He gave Glen a slight nod. But where, he wondered, had the truncheon come from? He hadn't spotted it, and he prided himself on having a good eye for concealed weapons.

 

The rest of the room, he noticed, had quieted quite a lot, and the other two tables he’d marked were stealing glances at his new bouncer. Excellent. Word would get out, and maybe there wouldn't be any more knifings this week. He'd have to thank Magda for sending this one.

 

And, as Glen had suggested, ask her about that background of his.

 

###

 

Nemesis pulled up a series of graphs and charts on the General’s computer monitor. Most were highlighted in yellow. “We’re just now introducing the new farming techniques,” she said. “We have to move slowly. Too much change technologically, and we risk having a population that can't advance further due to not understanding the fundamentals. We'll be able to integrate fully with our own rations within a month, but there simply isn't enough land to feed all of us, especially the Shikanen.” The wolfmen, though they were omnivores, thrived best on meat, and that was in rare supply here, especially given the average Shikanen appetite. “We'll have to start terraforming soon, or we risk starvation.”

Cidet sighed, looking into the camera she was using to observe this room. Most simply looked at her avatar, but the Lord General was a different sort. “Any candidates?”

The graphs vanished, replaced by a map of Domhan’s solar system. “Two immediately, three more that will take a year or more to lay groundwork for.”

Domhan was second from the sun, a H6 primary. The next two out were highlighted, followed by a trio of gas giants and a pair of tiny dwarf planets on the outer edge. “The closest looks to be a high-gravity world. Life has been detected, and mostly seems compatible with standard biologies. The second is largely barren, right on the edge of the habitable zone.”

“One for the Shikanen, one for the Demeki, and one for us,” Cidet said, with a slight smile. “An interesting coincidence.” He shook his head. “Get started as soon as possible. Focus on the first world- with the Shikanen feeding themselves, the burden on Domhan becomes far less.”

She nodded, and queued up messages to the trio of science vessels that had been brought along with the fleets. They'd intended to take samples of the native Terran biosphere. Now they’d be turned to other, more productive purposes.

 

“What's the status on the barrier?” Cidet asked, and Nemesis gave the AI equivalent of a sigh.

“We defaulted to the usual response with an apparently indestructible obstacle.”

 

“You threw an Archon at it.”

 

“We threw an Archon at it.”

 

“And?”

 

“It's still there, and Zachariah is nursing a new concussion.”

 

Cidet pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

 

She considered. “There are some minor problems with those whose spouses and family were left behind. Mostly psychiatric visits. There are also several complaints about pay.”

 

Cidet sighed. “This is going to take much longer to solve than the food problem, isn't it?”

 

“Just be grateful the Shikanen either are unmarried or bring their loved ones with them, sir,” she said cheerily. “If they didn't, you'd likely have a mutiny on your hands.”

 

“Small favors,” Cidet grunted, opening his desk drawer, where he kept the _really_ strong alcohol.

 


	14. Nightmares from the past

Ren opened her eyes, uneasy without knowing why. What had woken her? The room was dark, the oil lamp on the side table turned down until it's flame barely glowed. She listened.

 

“No...please….”

 

Glen's voice. She sat up, alarmed, twisting to look for him. He was there, still lying on his side of the bed. Eyes closed. Asleep?

 

Dreaming?

 

“No... Arbite, please, no….” He twisted, clearly in pain.

 

"Glen," she called his name gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

 

The moment she made contact, he jerked upwards, looking around rapidly. After a moment, he shook his head, and rubbed his temples. “Dammit,” he said quietly.

 

"Bad dream," she said softly. Less a question, more a commiseration.

 

He nodded, leaning back against the bed’s headboard. His jaw worked silently for a moment. “Used to it. Can't change it.”

 

"It happens a lot?" she asked. She moved up to sit beside him, watching him sidelong in the near-darkness.

 

He nodded again, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Ever since...since Johan died. On and off.”

 

Seven years of nightmares? She shook her head, sympathetic. "Is that... what the dream is about?" She put a hand on his arm. "Not that you have to talk about it, if you don't want to." She paused, then added, gently, "It might help, though?"

 

He shrugged, and she felt the twisted skin of his burn scars move under her palm. “Not his death. My family.” He paused. “It's...worse than the memories. At least it was quick, then.”

He was shaking.

 

Images of that horror -- of his own memory of it, that she'd seen while in his mindscape -- flashed before her mind's eye. A woman and two little girls... shadows that moved as if solid and alive, running the three of them through like blades... the tall, skeletal man whose red eyes glowed as their blood sprayed...

 

"Oh," she whispered. He didn't say anything more, and she wasn't sure if she should press or not. Finally she said, hesitantly, "Then Arbite... was the man," -- the monster -- "who...?" She glanced at him. "You were talking in your sleep," she explained.

 

He nodded again. “He was an Archon. I killed him, later. Didn't help.” He looked away.

 

"What happened?" she asked, half afraid to voice the question. 

 

“He started a rampage. Walked from town to town, city to city, killing everyone he found. The planet was quarantined, they couldn't risk him escaping on one of the ships, and his own abilities countered the other Archons. Three years passed. Johan and I dealt with him, our first mission.” His tone was flat- not quite as detached as that nameless part of him, but close.

 

Ren tried to imagine it. An Archon terrorizing a whole planet, and two men going after him. What chance did they stand? But Johan, she knew, had not died until years later, and Glen was here with her now. So they'd managed it. Somehow.

 

But why had they had to? "Why would he... do what he did?"

 

“He went insane. My family….we were the first. He knew us, everything he thought he would never have. He told me that was why, after he trapped me under my home’s ruins and set fire to them. Told me he planned to take everything he’d lost away from everyone else.” Glen stared fixedly ahead, eyes distant.

 

"I'm sorry," she said. It seemed inadequate, but what else could she say?

 

“It wasn't your fault. You didn't make him broken inside.”

 

She wasn't sure if she should ask, but felt she had to. "What did?"

 

Glen closed his eyes, and sighed. “A while back, when you asked me about my past, I mentioned a friend who led us to fight, a man who had been experimented on by the local government.” His voice wavered.

 

Ren nodded.

 

“That was him.” He looked down. “My best friend, and…” He made a choked sobbing sound, and buried his face in his hands. “It still hurts. Nearly forty years, and it still hurts.”

 

The only words for something like this were meaningless. 'It's alright,' when it wasn't. 'It'll be okay,' when there was nothing she could do to fix it. So she put her arms around him instead. Hoping the gesture would say without words that it might not ever be okay, but he wasn't alone. She was there, she understood, and she wouldn't let him suffer the hurt by himself.

 

He went rigid, then slowly relaxed, leaning into her.

 

"No matter what they tell you, I don't think time fixes everything," said Ren, slowly. "I don't think pain just goes away. But... it can get better."

 

He hadn't said it, but she knew him well enough by now to know that he was blaming himself for what had happened. Was cutting himself with it, so the wound could never heal.

 

"I don't think there's anything you could have done differently," she said. "No one could anticipate something like that. Any of it. Your family's deaths were  _ not your fault _ . Your friend losing it wasn't your fault, either. You did what you could. You can't demand more of yourself than that."

 

“Not sure I can believe that, myself,” Glen said softly. “But the fact you said it helps.” He paused. “Dammit, Id,” he said softly.

 

Ren raised an eyebrow, curious. "What did he say?"

 

“He told me what he said to you, on the roof.” He sighed. “Ren, I….I don't want to see you hurt. And that seems to happen to everyone who gets close to me.” He sat back up, pulling away.

 

She let him go, but frowned at his words. "That's not true," she said.

 

“Isn't it?”

 

"Not for Cassiel. He's your little shadow, never leaves your side. Yet here he is. Unharmed."

 

Glen went very still. “Just means it hasn't happened yet,” he said bleakly. “Probably also means I should leave before it does. And yet I can't. Too selfish.”

 

"Too selfish? You know what leaving would do to him. You could never do that." She shook her head. 

 

A thought occurred to her, and she stopped, looking for the right words to convey it. "You're right. Something could happen to him. Or to me. Or to  _ you _ . But that's just as true if we were each on our own. What do you think would have happened to me if I hadn't met you? What would have happened to Cassiel, if you never came along? And when bad things do happen, aren't we better off having each other around to help?"

 

Glen sighed, and leaned back again. “Ren?”

 

She bit her lip. Had it come out wrong? "Yes?"

 

“Thanks.” He tapped the side of his head. “They seem to agree. Nagging bastards.” She caught a glimpse of a smile in the gloom.

 

"Well, four heads are better than one. You should listen." She smiled, too.

 

He chuckled. “So what now?” he asked, voice sobering. “What do  _ we _ do?”

 

That was harder to answer. "I... I don't know," she said softly.

 

He held out a hand, barely visible in the dark. “Find out together?”

 

Ren took the offered hand carefully, as if it might be withdrawn. Not that she thought it would be, but the moment felt fragile, too far outside expectations to be quite trusted. She smiled. "Yeah. I like that idea."

  
Glen pulled her into a wordless hug.  Despite the darkness, to Ren the world seemed much brighter all of the sudden.


	15. Cassiel has a BSOD

Cassiel didn't understand why he couldn't just sleep on the same schedule Glen did. Because Glen worked evenings and late into the night -- early morning, technically -- at Garth's inn, he usually slept until mid-morning. Ren got up earlier, to teach at the school, and she insisted on taking Cassiel with her even though he couldn't actually do his lessons there, since the tablet might be mistaken for magic and get them in trouble. No matter what she said to the contrary, 'being around other kids' was not the point, and he refused to accept it as a valid explanation.

 

Nonetheless, Ren dislodged him every day from his cozy blanket cocoon, dragging him out into the cold morning and insisting that he wash his face and hands and let her comb his hair when all he really wanted was to crawl back under the covers. Freki, the traitor, spent the whole time sprawled on the bed, rubbing it in that he didn't even have to get up, much less go anywhere, unless he felt like it. 

 

This morning, for some reason, Ren was annoyingly cheerful, smiling and trying to entice Cassiel to talk to her even though she knew he had no inclination to chat with the prospect of school hanging over him.

 

"Hey, you under there? Or did the blankets eat you?"

 

"How'd you sleep?"

 

"Are you ready to-- Where's your other shoe?"

 

He refused to respond to any of it. She only smiled and ruffled his hair, completely ignoring the unspoken rule that only Glen was allowed to do that.

 

At last he was ready to go. Ren looked at him. "You don't know what day this is."

 

He blinked at her. Was she quizzing him?

 

"You have no idea what time it is, either, do you?"

 

Um. Early?

 

"It's a rest day, silly. No school today. And it's late enough that Glen's going to be up in about half an hour, which means we don't have much time if we're going to get breakfast and bring it back here to surprise him."

 

Cassiel brightened. 'Let's go!' he signed. Ren laughed.

 

They went to the dining hall, and came back with covered plates of assorted breakfast foods -- no pancakes, sadly, but the dining hall had a fixed menu -- and a teapot full of hot water but no tea. Ren had gotten some funny looks when she asked for the tea-less tea, but Cassiel had a suspicion he knew what she wanted it for.

 

Sure enough, when they returned to their rooms, Ren produced packets of instant coffee.

 

"Had these in my pack," she told him, conspiratorially. "Should be a welcome surprise, don't you think?"

 

He nodded, and grinned, watching her empty the packet's contents into mugs and pour the hot water over them. The enticing smell of hot coffee wafted up.

 

That, apparently, was enough to wake Glen up, since he appeared like a wraith moments after, pulling on a short-sleeved red shirt. He ran a hand through his hair, now shaggy and long enough to reach past his jaw, and grinned, snatching up a mug. “For me?” he asked Ren. “You shouldn't have.”

 

Huh. Glen was really cheerful too.

 

"Sure I should," said Ren. "That grin alone is worth way more effort that what it took just to bring you breakfast and coffee. I didn't even cook."

 

Glen chuckled, and sat down on the couch, drinking deep from his mug. He took one of the covered plates, and set it on the small table in front of the couch.

 

Ren gave Cassiel a mug. Much to his surprise, it turned out to be coffee, like Glen's. Ren never gave him coffee. Was... something going on? She smiled at him. Not a mistake, then. Baffling.

 

Cassiel took both sugar and honey from the breakfast tray and added them to his coffee, then took his own breakfast over to the little table. He watched Ren settle on the couch next to Glen, cupping a mug of tea in both hands. She and Glen glanced at each other.

 

What was  _ that _ look about? That was the kind of look people gave each other when--

 

What.

 

Glen put an arm around her for a moment, before turning to his own breakfast, sausage, porridge, and a strange red-skinned fruit Cassiel didn't recognize.

 

Cassiel wondered for a moment if this wasn't Glen. He shifted his focus. The not-seen around Glen confirmed that it was really him, the other two layered underneath like they were supposed to be. It also showed something else. Wisps of Glen's not-seen reached for Ren, and wisps of hers reached back. Not a new development, but stronger now. Brighter.

 

_ What? _

 

He blinked his vision back to normal, staring at them. This... was  _ so weird _ .

 

Glen nodded to him. “I think we broke him,” he said to Ren.

 

Ren hid her smile behind her mug, but he could still see it around her eyes. "Hmm. He hasn't had his coffee yet. He'll come out of it."

 

Cassiel glared at them, and made a point of turning his attention to his breakfast. From the corner of his eye he spotted Freki. Even the dog was grinning at him.  _ You didn't know? _

 

_ How was I supposed to know? _ thought Cassiel. It's not like there...

 

had been...

 

signs. Oh.

 

Aw, geez.

 

Sure, he'd known they liked each other. He just hadn't known, well, that they  _ liked _ each other. But now he thought about it... Huh. Seemed like maybe they'd liked each other for a while. And maybe they hadn't realized it either. Not the way they seemed to now.

 

Still weird, though.

 

“So, you actually have a day to yourself,” Glen said. “What do you plan to do with it?”

 

Cassiel thought about it, starting on his breakfast while he considered. Then he looked up, hopeful. "You want to spar?" he asked. They hadn't done that since they got here. Definitely overdue.

 

Glen smiled. “Sure. We'll have to find a place a bit out of the way, but gladly.” He finished the last few bites of his own breakfast.  The rest of the food on Cassiel's plate vanished in record time, and he hopped to his feet. Ren laughed.

 

Glen stood as well, briefly hugged Ren, and opened the door. “Well, let's get going,” he said.

 

Ignoring the hug -- too weird, ugh -- Cassiel followed Glen out into the hall. 

 

“You have any ideas where to go?” Glen asked.

 

Cassiel hesitated. He hadn't seen it himself, but he'd heard some of his classmates talking. "Well, maybe," he said. "If we can find it. I kind of know where to look, I think."

 

Glen smiled, and flung his arms out. “Lead the way.”

 

The place he'd heard about turned out to be pretty easy to find. As indicated, in covert conversations not nearly as secret as the participants seemed to think -- Cassiel had certainly had no trouble slipping within eavesdropping distance unnoticed, at any rate -- it was simply a matter of proceeding to a specific little-used hallway, and then following the arrows scored into the wall. They were small arrows, down low where they could, if you weren't very observant, be mistaken for scuff marks. Not terribly creative, in Cassiel's opinion. But easy to follow.

 

Before long the hallway they were in connected to a narrower one. The new passage seemed older, and it was built differently; here the walls were finished with brick instead of plaster, and the floor was stone. The join between the two was rough; it looked like somebody had broken through a wall from one into the other, then repaired the damage by putting in a lopsided archway that wasn't quite even with either passage. Once through it, it felt less like they were underground and more like they were in a building. Not one with access to the surface though; they passed a staircase that ended half a flight up in a solid wall of rubble.

 

Then they found it. There were no lamps, but someone had hung a lantern by the entrance, so Cassiel lit it and turned it up, illuminating a large room, not empty but with plenty of open space in the middle.

 

The room had been repurposed more than once, each use leaving its mark. Storage space; meeting hall; some kind of workroom; even, judging by the old cot frame and stack of moth-eaten blankets abandoned in one corner, a dorm or other living space. There were wooden studs and part of a wall, hinting that it had at some point been divided up into multiple rooms, then mostly torn down again. Now it seemed to be forgotten. The kids had called it an old storeroom. Maybe they hadn't been told. Maybe even the adults had forgotten. But to Cassiel it was obvious. The columns along the walls, the alcove at the far end -- empty now, probably empty for ages -- the dais in front of it, the odd little rectangle there that might once have been the base of an altar... this had been a temple once.

 

Glen looked around, then nodded. “This works.”

 

Cassiel put the lantern down on top of a dusty crate. It's light brightened the open center of the space and cast looming shadows up the walls from the stacks of old junk piled around the edges of the room.

 

Glen grinned, and unstrapped his knife, sheath and all, from his belt. “Let's see if you’ve gotten rusty in the time we've spent here,” he said lightly.

 

Grinning back, Cassiel readied his own kurki, sheathed for practice. "It hasn't been  _ that _ long," he said.

 

“We’ll see by the end of--” Without warning, Glen struck in mid-sentence, blade flashing for Cassiel’s neck.

 

Surprised but quick to respond, Cassiel skipped backward and to one side, dodging the blade. He darted immediately to Glen's left, and feigned an attempt at Glen's side, his real target being Glen's left arm.

 

Glen seemed to see it coming, and twisted away, using the rotation to bring his leg around in a kick. When Cassiel ducked that, the knife followed an instant later, slashing at his weapon hand.

 

Cassiel barely avoided it, and found himself forced back and onto the defensive, trying to stay out of Glen's reach while he watched for an opening.

 

Soon enough, he found it, as Glen made another slashing blow, overextending just far enough.  Cassiel evaded the blow and continued the motion straight into an attack, slicing at Glen while he was balanced too far forward to quickly get out of the way.

 

Glen twisted again, free hand chopping at Cassiel's wrist, causing the blade to miss him by millimeters. His leg hooked around behind Cassiel, sweeping his feet from under him.

 

He fell backward, but managed the landing easily, then rolled quickly away. Then he was back on his feet, spinning to face Glen again.

 

Glen paused, though, then straightened up. “We have visitors.”

 

Cassiel startled, turning to follow Glen’s gaze.  Three other kids looked back at him, staring in amazement.

 

“Can we help you?” Glen asked.

 

All three stared wordlessly back.

 

Two boys and a girl, they were familiar faces. Only one he had talked to -- well, he hadn't done any of the talking, but he supposed it counted -- but he had seen them all before, at school. He lifted a hand in a reluctant wave.

 

When he'd thought this would be a good place to spar, he hadn't anticipated anyone else coming around.

 

“Any of you got names?” Glen asked.

 

The taller of the two boys, who had talked to Cassiel before, nodded. Then realized there was more to the answer, and added, "I'm Illa. This is my sister--”

 

“Catharin,” the girl said with a grin.

 

“Herm,” the shorter boy added shyly.

 

“Pleasure to meet all of you,” Glen said. “And I repeat my last question. Can we help you?”

 

"No," said Catharin. "We're just watching."

 

_ Well stop watching and go away, _ thought Cassiel. He sighed.

 

Glen sat cross-legged. 'Possible friends?’ he signed at Cassiel.

 

Had Ren been talking to him about this? What was this 'go make friends, Cassiel' push about?

 

'Unknown' he signed back, and shrugged.

 

“Watching doesn't help you much, in the long run,” Glen said to the kids. “Tell you what. You and Cassiel can go ask your parents to let you learn, if you want to, and I’ll go get my stuff. Sound good?”

 

No, that did not sound good. Nothing about it sounded good. Cassiel gave Glen a look.  _ What are you even thinking? _

 

But the other kids were nodding, and Glen had smiled and stood, walking off.

 

That left Cassiel alone with them. He considered going after Glen. But before he could, Illa waved him over, smiling. "Come on, let’s go."

 

So Cassiel went with them.

 

“Your dad is  _ so cool _ ,” Catharin enthused.

 

Well,  _ yeah _ . Cassiel smiled, pleased both by her appraisal of Glen -- which was quite correct -- and by the assumption that Glen was his dad. "Yup."

 

“I mean, our dad wouldn't let me anywhere near a knife,” she said. Her nose wrinkled. “Says it's not ladylike.”

 

Herm chuckled, but didn't say anything.

 

"Ren's a lady, and she carries a knife," Cassiel pointed out. Not a very big one, sure, but he'd seen her practice with Glen and knew she could use it. But she wore it concealed at school, so probably these three didn't realize she had it.

 

“Huh. Wonder if that’ll convince him,” Catharin said.

 

"I'm just guessing... but probably no?" said Illa. "I mean, doesn't Dad usually say no to most of your ideas?"

 

“The ones I tell him about,” Catharin grumbled. “I’ll just ask ma.  _ She _ lets me have fun.”

 

“Your dad must’ve been in a lot of trouble,” Illa said to Cassiel.

 

Cassiel nodded. That was kind of an understatement. But he didn't think it was a good idea to say too much. "I guess."

 

“Any idea what it was? Never seen anyone changed as much, except Tald.”

 

"Changed?" said Cassiel. "You mean his eye?"

 

“And the fact he doesn't have horns or a tail,” Illa said. “Our dad's got an eye like his, and there are some people missing horns or tails, but nobody has all of them at once.”

 

"Oh. Um..." Cassiel hesitated, unsure if he should tell them Glen was human. It might take some explaining. "He, uh, never had horns. Or a tail." 

 

“Huh.” Illa paused. “Weird.”

 

“How’d he survive this long, then?” Herm asked quietly.

 

Cassiel didn't want to say they'd come through the barrier. Everyone who heard that was weird about it. But how else could he explain? "We... aren't... from here." He stopped with that, fidgeting uncomfortably.

 

“Oh,” Catharin said brightly. “ _ That's _ why all of you get to carry around knives, isn't it?”

 

"I... don't think so?" said Cassiel, confused.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Cat, he's not comfortable with it, stop bugging him,” Herm said softly.

Catharin pouted.

 

Cassiel gave Herm a grateful look.

 

“And here's our place,” Illa said, pointing at a battered door made of bluish wood.  He produced a key and went in, followed by the others. Cassiel would have hung back, maybe waited outside, but Catharin didn't let him, shooing him in ahead of her.

 

Inside was a set of rooms similar to the ones Cassiel and Glen and Ren shared. Except it looked like Illa and his family had been here longer. A lot longer, if all the stuff everywhere was anything to go by. Someone who lived here really liked porcelain animals. There were  _ tons _ of them.

 

“Mom? You there?” Illa asked.

 

A woman popped her head out of one of the other rooms. "You're back quick. Decided to play here instead? Don’t break anything."

 

“No, Cassiel's dad asked if we wanted to learn to do stuff like he does, and he said we needed permission from our parents.”

 

"Oh?" She glanced at Cassiel, and gave him a friendly nod. Apparently he was the only unfamiliar face in the group. "And what kind of 'stuff' are we talking about doing, if permission is required?"

 

Illa had apparently not expected to get this far, and he mumbled incoherently, staring at the floor.

 

"Sounds interesting," said his mom, very seriously. "Tell me more. Maybe at a more audible level." She didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

 

“They were fighting with knives, and it was really cool, and he offered, and…” Catharin jumped up and down, apparently too excited for words. Herm quietly put a hand on her shoulder.

 

She blinked. "Fighting... with knives? Who was fighting? I don't want you fighting, Illa. With or without knives." She wasn't smiling anymore. Not even a hidden smile. She looked at Cassiel. "Your father wants to teach children to fight?" Her eyes landed on the kukri at Cassiel's hip, and widened. Then narrowed.

 

Cassiel shook his head, because that seemed the only viable answer, even though she was actually right. But he said nothing. Words wouldn't come.

 

“Not fighting. Self-defense. And only if you were comfortable with it,” Glen said from behind him.  Cassiel turned, startled -- but very, very glad -- to find Glen standing casually in the doorway.

 

“I take it you're Cassiel’s father.” She looked Glen over, and her expression turned careful and sort of fixed. She didn't seem to mind Glen's eye, but Cassiel could see her taking note of the missing horns and tail, and her eyes lingered on Glen's arm, the one with the burn scars. But then she nodded. "We haven't met. Are you a newcomer?"

 

Glen nodded. “Only been here a few days.”

 

"Welcome Below, then. I'm Aedie."

 

“Glen.”

 

“Self-defense… with knives?” she asked, sounding dubious.

 

Glen shrugged. “Not at first. Falls, how to block and throw punches effectively. How to escape bad situations. Only spar with Cassiel because we've been training for a while, and I trust him.”

 

She paused, considering. “Doesn't sound like a bad idea, put like that...” she admitted, a little reluctant.

 

“It's your decision, of course,” Glen said with a nod.

 

"Please, Mom?" said Illa. 

 

"Pleasepleaseplease,” added Catharin. “Think how safe we'd be if we could defend ourselves! Right? Wouldn't that be good?"

 

Aedie looked at them, and finally nodded. "Alright. If you want to."

 

"Yes!” Catharin actually bounced in place.

 

“Thank you!" said Illa, grinning.

 

"But no knives," said Aedie, turning her attention from them to Glen.

 

"Aw, but-" said Catharin.

 

"No." Aedie's tone was firm. Not a tone to be argued with, Cassiel could tell, and Illa and Catharin seemed to realize it, too. They nodded.

 

Glen nodded. “One more to go,” he said to Cassiel with a smile.

 

Cassiel nodded. This wasn't so bad.

 

"Thanks Mom, bye!" said Catharin, darting out the door and pulling Illa after her. Probably wanting to leave before their mom could change her mind.

 

"Home by dinner," Aedie told their retreating backs. She smiled. "Nice meeting you," she said to Glen. "If they give you trouble, let me know."

 

Glen nodded, smiling back. “Where’s your parents?” he asked Herm  as they followed Illa and Catharin out into the hall.

 

Herm shuffled his feet. "I don't have any," he said softly. "I'm a ward."

 

Cassiel went still. He knew the look on Herm's face exactly. He'd worn it himself. He put a hand on Herm's shoulder, lightly and just for a moment. Acknowledgment.

 

Glen shrugged. “You still want to learn?”

 

Herm nodded.

 

“Then follow along,” Glen said. “You're welcome with us.”

  
Herm nodded again. Cassiel smiled. And Catharin grinned and startled them all out of their skins with a sudden cheer, then took off down the hall back toward the repurposed temple.


	16. Fluffily fluff fluff fluff

Glen ran his hands through his hair, and frowned. It grew fast, and now it was getting overlong. He should probably cut it. But, among other things, he suspected Ren liked it long. But it was a liability in combat.  _ But _ it also had deeper meaning, tied to the future, not the past.

**[She likes it I like it]**

Shut it. You're as infatuated with her as I am.

_ [I think not. You are clearly more so.] _

Glen mentally scowled, then got out of bed. Cassiel was probably off with his newfound friends- and hadn't  _ that _ been easier to arrange than he had expected- but Ren should still be around. She could break him out of the deadlock in his brain.

 

Out in the main room, he heard a muffled  _ thump _ .

 

He hurried out, alarms screeching in the back of his head.  And there was Ren, kneeling beside an open crate full of books. She had two piles started, and just as he arrived she dropped another book irritably onto the larger one, scowling at it.

 

He tried not to sigh in relief, and smiled at her expression. “Giving you trouble?”

 

Ren sighed. "I asked for more books for the kids, and Magda had this sent over. But these are almost as bad as nothing. Look at this one." She held up a small but thick volume. He read the title.  _ An End to Kingdoms; Being a Review of the Great Events of Finyar in the First Century SA _ . "Looks like a history, right? It's not. It's Brother propaganda. An account of every 'great' thing the Immortal Brethren did in the first hundred years of their rule. Often in surprisingly gory detail, but slanted to make it all sound heroic and wonderful and -- and this bit gets repeated on almost every page -- just so incredibly necessary." She shook her head, looking cross. "They're all like that. Even a book on  _ plants _ is like that. I could read every book in here and about the only thing I'd come away knowing is that the Brothers have a chokehold on bookmaking."

 

That was unsurprising. “Along with everything else,” he said bitterly. “And I’ve had no luck contacting the Fleet, so until that barrier comes down, can't change anything about it.” He sighed. “Is there  _ any _ useful information in them?”

 

She idly flipped the pages of  _ An End to Kingdoms _ . "Maybe. Buried underneath the gilding and the hyperbole. But it's anyone's guess what's true and what's been changed."

 

“You’ll have to just do your best,” he said quietly, crouching down beside her. “Don't bother with the history, but anything else could work.”

 

She looked up from the book, and it was clear on her face that she was worried about more than books. "What if we can't leave?" she asked, voice low. "What if we're stuck here for good? This place, the way it is... the way the people are..."

 

“If it comes to that, I’ll hunt down the gods themselves, to find a way back for us. Failing that, the Brethren can always be removed, given time.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll see to it, if that's what it takes.”

 

Ren leaned into him. "Let's hope it doesn't get that far, then. I don't want a fight. I just want all of us safe." Then she smiled, and her tone grew warmer. "And while you're making your backup plans, like I know you're already doing, just bear in mind that I'm not going to let you 'see to' anything alone. I've got your back."

 

He chuckled. “If you say so. But I came in here for something other than planning contingencies.” He motioned to his overlong hair.

 

"Your hair?" she asked. "I noticed that. I like it. Suits you."

 

“I like it too.” He paused, happy he’d read her right. “But it's a problem in a fight. Between the two, my brain can't decide whether to cut it or not.”

 

"Hm." She bit her lip, looking at him sidelong. "Well... how do you feel about braiding it?"

 

Huh. He hadn't considered that. “Don't know. Never had it this long,” he said. “We could try it?”

 

She nodded. "Hard to braid your own hair, though; it's easier to let someone else do it. I could... if you want...?"

 

He nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

 

"Alright. Sit down, then, and let me get something to tie it."

 

He did as she asked, taking a seat in front of the couch as she vanished back into their room.  A moment later she was back, and settling on the couch behind him. Light fingers combed through his hair and began to gather it in sections, drawing them back and expertly winding them together.

 

He leaned back slightly, into her touch, and found himself smiling.

 

"Your hair's perfect for this," she informed him. He could hear the smile in her voice, too. He felt her fingers work on the braid, a simple, short one, three sections winding over and over each other.

“Good to find out,” he said softly, leaning against her legs. He closed his eyes, and hummed almost inaudibly.

 

The braid was almost finished, when he felt part of it come undone. No accident, he thought; her hands were too sure for that. But if she felt the need to redo some of it, he didn't mind.

 

She reached the end again and tied it off.

 

"There you go," she said quietly. "You can tuck it under your hat, and if someone does get ahold of it, at least it'll hurt less." She tugged at the braid, gentle.

 

He smiled, and caught her hand. “Thanks. Can I see…?”

 

"Sure." But she took her time letting go of his hand so he could go to the mirror.

 

He….this was familiar. Not on him, but….

He shook his head, and chuckled.

 

Ren gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

 

He didn't speak, instead pulling out his tablet and settling next to her on the couch. He moved through old files until he found what he was looking for.

It was an old photo, two-D, taken nearly a decade ago.

Him and Johan, him on the left, his hair cropped short, Johan on the right, black hair pulled back in a braid identical to the one he had now, green eyes sparkling. Both of them were smiling.

 

She leaned close and looked down at the picture. "Who...?"

 

“Johan.”

 

"Oh," she said softly. She studied the picture, but he could see her watching him from the corner of her eye.

 

He chuckled. “It's funny. Without even trying, you give me something to help remember him.” Something that didn't feature in his nightmares, he didn't say.

 

"I’m glad." She smiled, and nodded to the picture. "You look happy, the both of you. It's good to remember someone like that."

 

He nodded. She was right, as she usually was.

 

They were both quiet for a while, a companionable kind of silence. Then Ren said, "I was wondering about something..."

 

“Hmm?”

 

"Well, assuming that the barrier comes down or we find a way through it... what then? Soon enough the fleet will have made its agreements with every area that it can, and we won't be needed to act as ambassadors anymore. So what comes after?" She looked at him, and there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "What do you want to do then?"

 

There was a simple answer to that. “Find a place. Build a house. Not have to fight anymore,” he said strongly. “That's about it. And to do it with you.”

 

Ren leaned into his shoulder. He couldn't see her face, but her tail gave her away, the end curling happily. "I like that plan," she said. "I like that plan a lot."

 

He put an arm around her, holding her close, and smiled softly.

 

“Where, do you think?” she asked.

 

“Don't know,” he half-whispered in her ear. “Wherever looks good. Enough space for a small plot in the back, and far enough away for privacy.”

 

"I might know a place like that," said Ren, barely above a whisper herself.

 

“Where?”

 

She turned her head a little, to meet his eyes, and smiled. "Little place called the Reaches. Not so little, actually. And a lot of it with no people for isles around. Bit wild, but I never minded that."

 

He grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

"Sounds like a home," said Ren. She put her head back down on his shoulder. 

 

Glen said nothing for a time, just held her quietly.

**[Is such a thing a dream or a mission?]**

_ [It matters not. We will  _ make _ it so.] _

“A house on the Reaches, then,” he said, almost inaudibly. “That's what I’ll build for you.”

 

"For us."

 

“As you wish.”


	17. A short interval of fridge

Cidet stared at the scientist.

 

The scientist stared back.

 

Finally, the Lord General sighed. “Make it quick.”

 

The scientist, a language professor, of all things (and why the fleet had one on a biological research vessel, even  _ he  _ didn't know), nodded sharply. “Surely, you’ve noticed the similarity in languages, sir?” he asked. “How they're identical?”

 

Cidet nodded impatiently.

 

“It shouldn't exist.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“The fact of their environment  _ alone _ should have produced a vastly different language, one centered around the concerns of a species living in their conditions. Instead, the words, the grammar, the syntax, all of it is identical to Galactic Standard. Exactly. Not a difference in spelling, or pronunciation, or anything else.”

 

Cidet shrugged. “The Terrans spoke Standard,” he said. He knew the fellow here had a rebuttal, but it fell to him to argue. A deliberate 'defeat’ here would make the man more flexible later. Always a useful tool.

 

“Yes, but they shared a database that remained intact and compatible with ours. Even then, they had loan words, grammar shifts, new terms. The Demeki have none of that. Even their formal language is almost identical to ancient Latin.”

 

“What is the point?”

 

“What do you think the odds are of us finding ourselves in a universe that oh-so-conveniently has nearby locals that speak our language, sir?” the scientist said.

 

“Pretty damn slim,” Cidet admitted. “So?”

 

“So? It means, whatever it was that sent us here, it has to have had a reason behind it.”

 

Cidet shrugged. “Then, whatever it is, we can't fight it, since it'd operate on an entirely different level from us. So there's no point in worrying about it.”

 

The scientist went an interesting red color. “But-”

 

“There’s. No. Point,” Cidet said levelly. “Such a thing is for philosophers. It is not a military matter. Now, I have a fleet to run.”

 

The scientist nodded angrily, but stood and left.

  
What a waste of time.


	18. The naming of things

Ren took her plate and went to sit down beside Glen and Cassiel. The dining hall was lively, though not terribly full; it was a bit late for lunch for most people, but fit perfectly between her and Glen's schedules, so they made it part of their routine.

 

Glen smiled and nodded to her slightly, before starting on his own meal. He always waited until she had gotten her own food, and he always said something silently before eating. She'd never asked what, but it seemed to be the same each time.

 

Because she was curious, and because things had been going well enough between them that she felt comfortable asking without over thinking it, Ren said, "Why do you do that, before you eat? What are you saying?"

 

Glen blinked, then smiled again. “Just saying grace,” he said, quietly enough nobody else in the dining area could hear. “Customary to say a short prayer before lunch and dinner.”

 

"Oh. To God?" she asked. It still seemed odd to her that Glen's god had no name or title, and was only ever referred to as 'God'. It made sense, considering the way he described the deity -- something so omnipotent couldn't be labeled with a simple 'of' -- but even so.

 

She kept her voice equally low. This was hardly a safe place for open discussions about deities.

 

Glen nodded, and turned back to his food.

 

Ren started on hers as well. She'd have liked to ask more -- what was the prayer for, exactly? -- but whispered conversations risked drawing unwanted attention. 

 

Across the room, a sudden commotion broke out. Ren looked up, and saw a man with his back to the room, shoulders hunched and with one hand over his face. Had he hurt himself? Others nearby were trying to help him, but he kept waving them away. One of them leaned forward, saying something to him... and in the next instant she reeled back, shouting obscenities. The injured man cringed away. He looked up at his helper-turned-assailant, and Ren saw his face...

 

It wasn't a man. It was  _ Verlel _ . Ren froze, eyes wide. How? In allgods names,  _ how _ could this happen? What had Verlel done, what magic had she used to bring herself back after--

 

_ “Main Godt,”  _ Glen said beside her, staring at Verlel with wide eyes.  _ “Wae es ter nacht toch?” _

He stood, shaking, and drew his kukri, walking towards Verlel.  _ “Du hättust dech verräteraschin bastard bleiban sullan!” _ he shouted, words rising to a fever pitch. 

 

Ren jumped up. "Glen!"

 

Her voice was drowned out. Other people were shouting too, some angry and others afraid. Even the most riled of them got out of Glen's way, though, and fast.

 

But in the next instant, Magda was there. She appeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, and strode across the room, scooping something off the floor as she came. The something turned out to be a mask, which she deftly placed over Verlel's face. In that instant, the figure Ren was looking at ceased to be Verlel and became instead a thin man with curly blonde hair and wide blue eyes that peered through the eye slits of the mask in obvious terror.

 

"Everyone settle down!" Magda bellowed. The whole room went quiet, but it was Glen that she had her gaze fixed on.

 

Glen had stopped when the mask was put on, and he stared at the man, knuckles whitening on the grip of his kukri.  _ “Vas som hell….” _

 

"Whoever you think you saw," said Magda, "this is not them. This man's name is Drur, and he suffers an incurable curse. Anyone who looks on his face sees an enemy instead; someone who hurt them, or someone they hate, or fear. I'll say it again: whoever you saw a moment ago, This. Is. Not. Them."

 

All around the room, tension began to break as people fell into confusion. One man broke down in tears; another turned and slammed his fist against the wall. A woman sank to her knees, staring into the distance.

 

Glen's kukri fell to the ground with a thump, the blade sinking into the stone floor. Then he ran, so fast he was barely even a blur, past her and Cassiel, and out of the dining hall.

 

Ran ran out into the passage, but he was gone. Which way would he run? Would he go to their rooms? She could check there first-- but what if he headed off into the tunnels? Or up to the city?  _ Gods' tails _ , it was frustrating. If she'd had her Sense, she could have seen the ripple of his passage through the Essence herself, would have  _ known _ which way he'd gone. She swore silently.

 

Cassiel appeared at her side only a moment later, Glen's kukri in his hand, looking frantically up and down the hallway.

 

She'd never been so glad to see someone with the Sense. "Can you tell which way?"

 

Cassiel paused. Then took off down the hallway. It was the passage toward their rooms.

 

Ren ran after him, sprinting all the way back to the suite. She unlocked the door, but then slowed. Glen was obviously in a bad headspace, and crashing in on him wouldn't help. She opened the door and slipped in, Cassiel right behind her.

 

Glen was sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space.

 

Ren carefully closed the door behind them and exchanged a look with Cassiel. "Glen?" she said softly. "You... okay?"

 

Glen shook his head. “Not here.”

 

"No, the person you saw isn't here." She could guess who that had been, but didn't want to say his name.

 

Cassiel went over to the couch and climbed up beside Glen. He offered him his knife back.

 

Glen shook his head again, but took the blade. “No. Not Glen. That is what is meant.”

 

Oh, no. "Did he... is he 'asleep' again? Or...?" Maybe he hadn't withdrawn so far as that; maybe he could be coaxed back.

 

Another headshake. “Could not withstand the memories, neither could Id. Both are unconscious.”

 

Leaving the nameless one behind. Ren sighed.

 

Cassiel had retreated to the corner of the couch, sitting with his shoulders slumped and his eyes down. Ren went over and sat between them. She tugged Cassiel close and tucked him against her side, curling an arm around him, then looked at Nameless-Glen. "He... he thought that man was Arbite, didn't he?"

 

Nameless-Glen nodded.

 

Ren watched him. His face was neutral, almost unsettlingly so. "And now you're here," she said, slowly. "Are...  _ you _ alright?"

 

Nameless-Glen paused, then nodded. “As well as can be expected. This one does not hate as the other two do, does not fear as they do.”

 

That seemed like a good thing, at a time like this. So much less pain. But there would be a flip side, of course. Less joy. It made her sad. There seemed to be a lot missing, for this part of Glen. He didn't even have a name, for goddess's sake. She wasn't even sure he had a real concept of self.

 

She frowned slightly. "You say 'this one'. Never 'I' or 'me'. Why?"

 

“The use of pronouns requires meaningful division, a self to attach labels to. A name. This one has never asked for such, and it has never been given. Never been needed.”

 

"Hm." Ren was quiet for a moment, considering. "You know, I think it might be time to change that. You need... well, you need a name, at least."

 

Nameless-Glen nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

 

That wasn't the point. But regardless, she couldn't keep thinking of him as 'Nameless-Glen' and she certainly couldn't  _ call _ him that. "What do you want to be called?" she asked.

 

Nameless-Glen sat silently for a long while. “This one does not know. The possibility of a name has never been contemplated,” he said quietly. “Whatever you choose shall be more than this one has ever expected to receive.”

 

_ That's not right, _ Ren thought.  _ Did no one think of this? _ Even if he had still been a fragment, he deserved more than that. Id had been given a name. This one should have been, too. He was part of Glen's  _ soul _ .

 

Cassiel shifted, peering past Ren and giving soon-to-be-not-Nameless-Glen an odd look. Well. She supposed he knew something about names. He looked up at her, expectant.

 

Ren considered. Any number of names came to mind, but none of them felt right. Just any name wouldn't do. He needed something with weight. With meaning.

 

Meaning.

 

She smiled. "What do you think of Kuro?" she asked him. "It's an old name in the High Speech. It means 'mind'."

 

Nameless-Glen tilted his head, considering it. Then he nodded. “Kuro. That is acceptable to this o- to me.”

 

Kuro smiled. “Thi-  _ I _ like it. Thank you.”

 

Ren smiled back, pleased. "You're welcome." She blinked. "I think that's the first time I've seen you smile."

 

“I was smiling?”

 

Before Ren could respond to that, there was a sharp knock at the door. She went to the door and answered it, to be met by a grim-faced Magda on the threshold. Magda's eyes went straight to Kuro, and she seemed to relax a little at the sight of him sitting calmly on the couch. "I came to see if... all was well," she said.

 

"Um. For the most part," said Ren.

 

Magda nodded. "May I come in?"

 

Ren glanced at Kuro. "Alright..." She moved aside, and Magda entered.

 

Kuro watched her steadily, not blinking.

 

His stare didn't seem to bother Magda. She only sighed and said, "I can only apologize about the incident with Drur. Things like this... I try to prevent them to the extent that I can, but it does happen."

 

“Who cursed him?” Kuro asked.

 

"A man he thought was his friend," said Magda, "but who turned out to be a dangerous sorcerer. Drur learned of it, and reported him. The sorcerer cursed him to 'never again be seen as a friend by anyone'. Now anyone who sees his face believes him to be their worst enemy."

 

“Is he still alive?”

 

"The sorcerer? No. He's not."

 

“A pity. The others would agree with me in wanting him to die  _ screaming. _ ”

 

Magda looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, he was dealt with by the Brethren." Ren had the feeling that meant he probably  _ had _ died screaming. "Regardless, you aren't the only ones to feel that way. I'm just glad it's the sorcerer you're angry with and not Drur."

 

“Hating a man for his misfortunes is why we are here, is it not?” Kuro said quietly. “It would be illogical to do so.”

 

"Yes..." said Magda, slowly. She'd noticed the altered speech pattern. Ren prayed to any god that might be listening that she would attribute it to stress and move on.

 

Whether she thought it was stress or not, Magda didn't move on. "Are you handling this alright? You don't seem quite yourself."

 

Kuro looked to Ren. “It cannot be avoided, can it?”

 

Ren sighed. The Doorkeeper was too observant, and too good at reading people. “Probably not.”

 

Magda looked back and forth between them. “What can’t be avoided?”

 

“You are not speaking to Glen.” Kuro said simply. “This was brought up when we first met. A side effect of that which saved our lives.”

 

"If I'm not speaking to Glen," said Magda, enunciating each word very carefully, "to whom am I speaking?" Her tone was somewhat less than friendly.

 

“A part of him, once cold logic, now a soul in its own right,” Kuro said, extending a hand. “My name is Kuro.”

 

Magda stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then, slowly, she took the hand and shook it once. She still didn't speak.

 

"Glen's soul was divided into three parts," Ren explained. "The magic that healed him when he nearly died also healed his soul, but it did it by healing each of the three parts separately. So now the other two are becoming more independent. They surface sometimes."

 

"There are two of them." Magda looked non-plussed.

 

"Kuro and Id, yes," said Ren.

 

“Id and Glen could not cope with the thought of Arbite alive once more. They will recover, but for now, I am in control.” Kuro paused. “What should we do?”

 

Magda shut her eyes and took a very slow, very deep breath.

 

Then another one.

 

Ren exchanged a look with Kuro.

 

"How long do you think it will take to return to normal?” Magda finally asked. “Or..." she made a vague, uncertain gesture with one hand, "...whatever passes for normal, for you."

 

Kuro shrugged. “Last time, a night's rest brought Glen back into control. There is no reason to believe it will be otherwise.”

 

"Then I'm going to advise you to keep to yourself until then. I'll talk to Garth, let him know. If this is something that's going to happen often, we'll see about some kind of arrangement. For now... just take the day off. Stay in. Try to think of ways to avoid springing any more surprises on me. I get enough headaches as it is."

 

Kuro nodded. “Thank you. We will endeavour to reduce your headaches.”

 

Magda gave him a look that was half grateful, half incredulous. But she nodded. "I appreciate that." She moved toward the door, and paused there. "I'm not going to ask what animal you have down here that's been shedding its fur in these rooms, but I am going to ask that you please continue to keep it's existance quiet." She muttered something Ren couldn't catch, and then she was gone.

 

Ren sank down onto the couch. "Well. That could have gone worse."

 

Kuro nodded silently.

  
Appearing out of nowhere, the fur-shedding Freki barked. Ren just shook her head and smiled.


	19. Cassiel dreams

Cassiel was in a forest. Not the dense pine forests of Finyar, but the lighter, sunnier forests of the courtlands. It was much like the wood on the west edge of Greenstone, although he knew somehow that it wasn't Greenstone.

 

His friends were here, somewhere, he knew. Herm, Illa, Catharin. Glen was here, too, and Ren. And Freki. Somewhere. Somewhere close. He just needed to find them.

 

He turned in place, studying the trees. Was everyone hiding? Was it a game?

 

Somehow he understood that it was, and that the only way to find them was to _ look _ . A special kind of looking. The knowledge of how to do it trickled into the back of his mind, wordless and faint. He couldn't grasp the concept, but he could use it.

 

Who did he want to find first?

 

Glen. Of course.

 

He concentrated. Glen was here. He was right here, close enough to touch. If Cassiel could just see...

 

And then he saw.

 

An endless, muddy field, pocked with craters, trenches and barbed wire cutting across it. The smell of blood and other, unmentionable scents floated through the air.

Fires smoldered in some of those craters. 

And there was Glen, a shovel in his hands, digging into the ground.

 

Cassiel started forward, weaving through the obstacles of the field and realizing as he did so that it was a  _ very _ bad idea to look down into any of those craters or trenches. He kept his eyes on Glen, and carefully made his way toward him.

 

"Glen!" he called, as he got closer.

 

Glen visibly startled, and turned in the knee-deep pit he’d dug, looking around. The shovel fell from his hands.

“Cassiel? How-” He backed away slightly, but couldn't get out of the pit. “Please, no….”

 

Cassiel looked around, but couldn't see whatever threat Glen did. He shivered, afraid, and kept going.

 

Glen sat down at the edge of the pit, eyes down, not looking at him as he approached. His lips moved constantly in some silent prayer.  Cassiel made it up the slight incline and finally reached Glen. He was about to ask Glen where they were and what was going on, but then he caught sight of what lay beyond him.

 

Bodies. Hundreds, thousands of them, each and every one covered by a white shroud. They stretched in neat rows into the distance, beyond the horizon.

Some of the shapes under those shrouds were very small.

 

A cold feeling crept over Cassiel. "What is this place?" he asked quietly.

 

For the longest moment, Glen didn't speak.

“It's where I remember my sins,” he finally said, voice on the edge of hearing. “Everything I’ve done.”

 

"Done?" Cassiel repeated. He looked out over the shrouded bodies. A field of them."What... happened?" he asked, confused. How could this be Glen's doing?

 

“Sixty years, give or take a few. That's how long I spent killing for a living,” Glen said quietly. “The least I can do is bury them.”

 

Cassiel still didn't understand. Killing for a living, that didn't sound like... what did that mean? Why were there children among the dead? "I thought... you were a soldier?"

 

“For a time. Then I walked a darker path.” Glen sighed. “I didn't want you to see all this…”

He looked down again. “Operatives….we can be soldiers, if need be, but first and foremost in our calling is assassination.”

He looked out over the field. “Not all of these were by my hand. But when you kill a man, and his death sparks a war, every life ended might as well have had you pulling the trigger that did the deed.”

He looked back at Cassiel. “Are you even real? Or just another part of the dream, meant to torment me further?”

 

Dream? It clicked, then, and Cassiel knew that Glen was right. This was a dream. But something in Cassiel still recognized Glen as real; this place might be a dream, but Glen was not.

 

And Glen was hurting. Cassiel wasn't sure yet what to make of all this, but he knew one thing:  _ his _ Glen, whatever he had done, and however scary he could be -- and Cassiel had seen for himself that Glen could be very,  _ very _ scary -- was good. And Cassiel loved him.

 

He wrapped his arms around Glen, hugging him tight. Maybe that would answer Glen's question. Maybe it would stop some of the hurting.

 

Glen let out a shocked gasp, then relaxed. Then he hugged Cassiel back.

 

_ Such touching devotion, _ a familiar voice said.  _ Is this corruption of an innocent what you wanted? _

 

Cassiel looked up. There was a figure standing beside the pit Glen had dug, thin and loose-limbed, dressed in rags, its face hidden under a deep cowl. But it turned its head, and in the shadows under the hood, Cassiel saw icy blue eyes. He shuddered and held tighter to Glen. "That's him," he whispered. "He was in my dream!"

 

Something in Glen's eyes went hard. “He was, was he?” he said quietly. He disentangled Cassiel from him, and stood. “You aren't welcome here, Rags,” he said.

 

_ Yes, I am aware, _ the ragged man answered.  _ That is why I needed the boy's help to come to this place. But now that is done; your defenses are breached, and I am here. _

 

Glen looked at the ragged man steadily. “I think there's something behind you that will disagree on me being defenceless,” he said, with a sudden grin.

 

A gigantic black wolf growled behind the ragged man, having appeared as suddenly as Freki could.  Cassiel knew that form; he'd seen it in the temple on Hollowheart. And he recognized, now, who it was. Id.

 

The icy eyes widened, and the ragged man turned. He started to back away from Id, but stumbled at the edge of the pit and just managed to catch himself. He looked back at Glen.  _ I did not come here to fight! _

 

“Don't care. You sent my boy out into the cold and snow. Alone. You’ll pay for that.”

 

_ I led him to where he needed to be, to meet the people he needed to meet. To bring him here. I have accomplished that, and he is unharmed, is he not? _

 

“Again, don't care. Id?”

The black wolf cocked his head. 

“Kill.”

Id lunged forward, but the figure had already vanished.

 

_ No, no, no.  _ The figure reappeared on their other side.  _ You need my  _ help _. It is only a matter of time before the Brothers find the boy, just as I found him. And what will you do then? _

 

“What I do best,” Glen said simply.

 

_ You mean, jeopardize the safety of those around you and narrowly escape with your life? It might work. But one can only hope the odds would hold. It would be a shame if you made it through and he did not.  _

 

Id snarled, but Glen held up a hand. “What do you want?” he gritted out.

 

_ I want my power back. _ The ragged man's eyes glowed brighter, icy stars in the shadow of his cowl.  _ I want to see the Brethren crippled as I was crippled, to see them destroyed as my kith have been destroyed. _ Those cold eyes fixed on Cassiel, and Cassiel shrank against Glen.  _ The boy carries a power in him that the Brothers  _ will  _ come for. You cannot stop them. But with  _ my _ help, you can turn that power against them; you can put an end to them! _

 

Glen paused, then shook his head. “No. I know your type, Rags. No matter what you promised, we’d be thrown away the moment we were of no use to you. Now. Get. Out. Of. My.  _ Head!” _

The dream shuddered around them, and the ragged man vanished.

 

Cassiel looked around, expecting him to reappear again. He didn't.

 

"Is he really gone?"

 

Glen nodded, sitting back down. “Hopefully for good,” he said.

 

Somehow Cassiel didn't think that would be the case. But he nodded. He sat down next to Glen, eyes down because he didn't want to look at the white-shrouded bodies. He did lift his head to glance over at Id, though, and raised his hand in a little wave.

 

Id moved closer, and laid his head in Cassiel's lap, engulfing him in fur.

Glen sighed. “It's probably best if you go back to your own dreams, now,” he said.

 

Petting Id's massive head with one hand, Cassiel shook his head. "Rather stay with you," he said. He leaned against Glen's arm.

 

“Then I think we need a change of scenery,” Glen said quietly.

 

Cassiel looked up at him, still being careful to look  _ only _ at him. "How?" It wasn't as if they could just leave and go somewhere else. This was a dream.

 

“I know it's a dream, so I can apply my will to it, make it what I want.”

 

Glen had said something to that effect before, Cassiel remembered. Did that mean Glen had made  _ this _ dream, too? He didn't ask. Instead he said, "Show me how?"  Glen closed his eyes, and the world shattered around them, the pieces shifting in swarms into a new configuration. When he opened his eyes again, they sat on a wooden bench in a grassy park.

 

"This is better," said Cassiel. 

 

Glen nodded. “You should be able to do this sort of thing too,” he said. “In your own dreams. All it takes is stubbornness, which you've got plenty of.” He smiled, but it was tiny.

 

"I want to try it," said Cassiel. "Can we go back to my dream?"

 

Glen shrugged. “Might as well try. Lead the way.”

 

Cassiel blinked. Glen wanted him to do it? He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten from his dream to Glen's in the first place. That had been Rags in the back of his mind, telling him how to do it.

 

Rags was gone, but the feeling was still there. The sense of another place not exactly nearby, more...  _ here _ , but hidden. If he  _ looked _ at the dream just right...

 

The wood reappeared, and this time Glen was with him. Cassiel grinned.

 

Glen looked around. “Part of Greenstone?” he asked.

 

"Kind of," said Cassiel. Even before he'd known this was a dream, he'd been able to tell that this wasn't quite Greenstone even though it looked like it. "I think Rags made it. I dream about Greenstone sometimes, but this isn't it."

 

“Well, then, first on the list is to correct that,” Glen said. “Memories are your best bet.”

 

"Memories? Just... remembering what it's supposed to look like?" Cassiel thought about it. Those rocks were wrong; they marked the edge of the cliffs and there shouldn't have been anything past them. That tree, with the distinctive bent trunk, had fallen over ages ago. And the little yellow flowers didn't even grow on this side of the island.

 

But knowing that didn't make the scene change. In fact, the longer he stared at it, the harder it was to think of it looking any other way.

 

He frowned, frustrated. "It's not working."

 

“Because you're trying to _ change _ them. What you need to do is think they've _ always _ been the way you remember.”

 

Cassiel shut his eyes. He pictured this place the way he knew it should be.  _ This is what it's like, _ he thought.  _ What it's always been like. What it’s supposed to be. _ He could envision it perfectly; it was a very familiar place, after all.

 

He didn't open his eyes. Instead, the image in his mind's eye  _ became _ the dream. The poor imitation Rags had made was gone completely, and in it's place was one of Cassiel's favorite haunts: the woods along the cliffs of Greenstone island.

 

" _ This  _ is Greenstone," he said, proud.

 

Glen smiled, a real one this time. “It's nice.”

 

Cassiel smiled back, and jumped easily up onto the big rocks, scrambling out to the edge where the sun and the breeze could reach him best. Eyes on the view, he beckoned Glen to join him. "This is the best spot," he said, dangling his feet over the void.

 

“Well, bugger all. This is awkward,” Glen said, voice oddly resonant.  Cassiel turned to look, and his mouth dropped open.

 

Where Glen had been standing was an immense grey wolf, shaggy fur bristling in all directions.

“This is extremely strange,” the wolf said, in Glen's voice. “I'm  _ furry. _ ” 

 

“What  _ happened _ ?” said Cassiel, shocked. “What did I do?”

 

“Dreams are weird,” Wolf-Glen said, looking itself over. “I guess…put white and black together, you get grey, and since Id and Kuro were wolves.” It shrugged. “Thanks for naming him, by the way. He never asked for one from me. He’s…well, I don't think the word 'happy’ can be applied to him, but he likes it well enough.”

 

Cassiel was still trying to get over the absurdity of Glen being a wolf. He kind of wanted to pet him. 

 

He nodded. "He's... he doesn't really get happy or sad, huh? He's kind of... apart from everything. Why?"

 

“That's how he was made,” Glen said. “Once you take emotion away from someone's thoughts, he’s what's left. Or at least, that was what he was.”

 

“Not anymore,” said Cassiel. Which was his doing, his and the Sparks. He still didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad one.

 

Glen nodded. “Not anymore,” he echoed. He grinned a wolfish grin. “So, now I'm furry all over,” he said. “What should I do? Wake up?”

 

Cassiel shook his head. "No, stay!" He climbed back across the rocks, closer to where Glen stood. 

 

Glen sat back on his haunches. “Alright. I’ll wait. Id's holding down the fort back in my dream, nothing to worry about.”

 

Reaching the edge of the rocks, Cassiel stood. Then he  _ jumped _ , wrapping both arms around Wolf-Glen's massive neck. He couldn't even reach all the way around, nor did his feet reach the ground.

 

He hugged him tight, grinning.

 

Glen chuckled. “Get on my back before you fall off, if you’re so determined to hug me.”

 

Cassiel was more than happy to comply. He swung his leg up and levered himself onto Glen's back. "You're very fluffy," he said seriously. "Just so you know." Then he laughed, and hugged him again.

 

“Apparently,” Glen said dryly. He lay down, Cassiel still perched on his back.

 

"Why wolves?" Cassiel asked, suddenly curious. "You and Id and Kuro."

 

Glen shrugged, as much as a wolf could shrug. “I don't know. Seems….appropriate, though.”

 

"Why?"

 

“Wolves are pack hunters. They work together towards a common goal. Domesticated, they became dogs. They can work with other people, and they take care of their own,” Glen said. “Many, working as one.”

 

"Oh." Cassiel smiled. "That makes sense, then."

 

Glen chuckled again. “I think they'll be introduced as part of the ecosystem, once we start working on other worlds and making them habitable. Who knows? In a few years, you might be able to see them for yourself.”

 

Cassiel's eyes went wide. "We're going to do that? Go to other worlds?"

 

“Sure. The fleet’s staying in orbit to save on travel time, but they were talking about terraforming last I heard. Gives a lot more space for everyone, the Demeki included. I don't quite knowite  how it works, myself, but it takes less than a year to fix up the atmosphere, and then they add in plants and animals all over. They let all that sit for a few years, and then people can start colonizing. By then, I bet you’ll have starships of your own.”

 

"Wow..." Cassiel breathed. The possibilities danced in his head. Other worlds... and people would  _ go there _ . Go there and explore and build and live there. And they'd have ships. Like the fleet! "Our own starships," he said, softly. He thought about the fleet's ships, how they seemed to break all the rules of the world, rising up through the air all the way to the distant stars. He wanted to go with them. "I want to do that," he declared. "I want to be part of the fleet!"

 

Glen went stiff underneath him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Cassiel asked, excitement fading.

 

Glen let out a breath. “Nothing. Just….old memories.” He shook his head. “If you want to, sure.”

 

That didn't exactly sound encouraging. He leaned forward, laying along Glen's back with his cheek on Glen's -- soft, furry -- shoulders. He felt... disappointed. Glen clearly didn't like the idea, but Cassiel didn’t understand why.

 

Maybe if he explained better?

 

"I want to fly," he said. "I like the ships. I like how they work, and how they move. They can go  _ anywhere _ . I want to go with them. I want to fly through the stars."

 

“Heh. Don't need to join the fleet to do that…there was always a need for pilots back home,” Glen said. “No reason to suspect this world will be any different. You’ll be able to fly.”

 

Cassiel smiled. "That's gonna be  _ great _ ."

 

“If you say so,” Glen said, voice light. “Always preferred the ground, myself.”

 

"The ground has edges," Cassiel pointed out. "The sky doesn't."

 

Glen nodded. “Fair enough.”

 

The dream wavered for a moment. Cassiel sat up, and in the next instant felt the dream slipping away. He tried to hold on to it, closing his eyes and focusing hard on Glen's warm, furry bulk under his hands... but when he opened his eyes, it was to his own room, and a bemused-looking Ren peering into his customary nest of blankets.

 

"That's the most concentrated effort to not wake up that I've ever seen," she said. "You face was all scrunched up and I'm pretty sure you've strangled the blanket half to death, holding onto it like that."

  
Cassiel blinked at her. "Ugh!"


	20. Magda does damage control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying a little formatting experiment on our end since AO3 seems to have a thing against 1.15 spacing. Let's see how it works.

Magda had sent Blind Hemry -- his choice of moniker, not hers -- to fetch Glen and Renma. These rumors were getting out of control. Word had gotten out that the three came from somewhere other than Finyar, and the resulting speculation was quickly souring. Something had to be done, and soon.

 

A knock came at the door.

 

"Come in," she called. Hemry, blindfolded and inexplicably graceful, opened the door and waved the others in. Then he was gone again, steps as sure as any sighted man, off to his next errand.

 

Glen came in behind Renma and Cassiel -- she wasn't surprised they'd brought the boy along -- and closed the door behind them.  He took the leftmost seat, turning it to watch her and the door, just like last time.

 

Renma sat down, glancing back at the door. "Did he...?" The usual assumption, unsurprisingly.

 

"Not at all," said Magda. "He lost his sight in a simple accident, and learned to compensate so well that people assume, as you did, that he must be using magic to do it. It got him in trouble, which landed him here. Truth is, all he really does is listen and pay very close attention."

 

Glen nodded. “But I’m sure he's not why you wanted to speak with us,” he said.

 

Magda shook her head. “Hardly. No, I wanted to talk to you about some... conversation that's been going around. It seems someone came to the conclusion that you aren't exactly local. I believe the girl who first raised the subject didn't realize to what extent that was true, but others hearing the story have been speculating a bit more pointedly."

 

Glen's expression tightened, and his hands moved a fraction closer to the knives sheathed at his belt.

 

She raised a hand. "Some of these speculations are not in your favor, it's true. But what I would like to do is counter rumors with the real story. I generally don't ask anyone to share their pasts or histories except with myself. But in cases where ignorance or misunderstanding poses a threat..." She shrugged. "Doing so has been a valid strategy before."

 

“You sure you want the stories  _ I _ have?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

 

"Definitely  _ not _ ." Magda cringed at the very idea. "I simply want to disseminate the truth of your origins: that you come from the lands beyond the barrier, and were pulled through by a force outside your control."

 

“That's all? I doubt they’ll be satisfied with that.”

 

"You're right, and I have a plan for that. You two aren't the most social; you've made a few acquaintances, but for the most part you seem to keep to yourselves. I want you to change that, at least for the time being. Spend time in the common areas. Make yourselves available, and approachable. Talk to people. Show them that you're real people, same as them, who got caught up in circumstances you didn't choose."

 

She paused, cautious about this nest suggestion. She didn’t think they were going to like it, Glen especially. "And I want you to sit down with a specific group and make a point of explaining and answering questions."

 

Glen paused. “I'm not sure I’m  _ capable _ of being approachable,” he said quietly.

 

"People are curious enough that I expect they'll approach you on their own, provided you don't actively glare at them." She gave him a pointed look. "And as for the group I want you to meet... I don't think you'll have issues with them. Glen, you've already made inroads with a few of them. If you have trouble striking a rapport with the rest, I'm sure Renma can help out."

 

Renma raised an eyebrow. "Are you... talking about the kids?"

 

Magda nodded. "That might seem odd, when it's the adults we're worried about. But children talk, to each other and to their parents. And seeing as it was a little girl that seems to have started all this--"

 

“You want us to teach them?” Glen asked. “That's all?” He paused. “Seems simple enough,” he finally admitted. “Though I’m wondering how much we should tell them….” 

 

"Not much," said Magda quickly. "I want them to go home and tell their parents that you were nice and non-threatening and no more abnormal than most of us Below. Interesting, but only in ways a child could repeat to their parents without turning it into something alarming." She shook her head. "Mostly what this is meant to do is show everyone that _ I  _ am confident that you have no sinister intentions. People know I wouldn't endanger their children. If I'm approving this, it reflects well on you." She thought about that for a moment. “Or poorly on me, should things go wrong.  _ Don’t _ let things go wrong.”

 

He nodded. “I don't think that's an option for us, either,” he said. So, he understood that. Good. “I’m game. Ren?”

 

Renma nodded. "Just another day for me," she pointed out. "And the kids are a great bunch. It'll be fun."

 

“Do you mind if we plan this on our own?” Glen asked Magda politely.

 

“Of course,” said Magda, somewhat relieved that they seemed open to the idea after all. “Set it up however is comfortable for you. Give me a bit of time to start putting word out to balance against some of these rumors, but don't wait too long. Some time in the next few days, ideally."

 

Glen nodded, and stood. “By your leave, then.”

 

She gave them a nod and a smile. "Of course."

  
As the door closed after them, Magda sighed. She hoped this would be enough to turn the tide of public sentiment in their favor. If the community rejected them, the Doorkeepers would be hard pressed to keep them around. And she didn't like the alternatives.


	21. Glen does his job

Glen stood in his usual spot in the inn’s common room, watching the patrons. They'd quieted remarkably in the week since he'd taken this job. You could almost mistake the place as a respectable one.

Part of him was still worried about Ren's class tomorrow. He didn't like talking when the mission didn't demand it, bar a rare few people, and though children were less…. _ abrasive _ when it came to questioning, he still didn't like it.

 

The door opened, and a man came in. He stopped just inside the threshold and scanned the room, slowly. That wasn't entirely out of the ordinary; more than a few of the patrons here were perpetually on the lookout for people they didn't want to meet, and made a habit of scanning the place for said people when they came in.

 

But this new fellow's demeanor seemed more like he was on the other side of that equation.

 

He quietly reached into his coat for his truncheon, and tapped it against his leg as he watched. The fellow wasn't causing any trouble yet, but that didn't seem likely to last long.

 

Sure enough, the man's gaze fixed on a table where three men sat drinking and playing cards. He went over to them, unhurried, and leaned on the back of one man's chair, talking to the man's companions over his head. Whatever he was saying, none of the three liked it.

 

From this angle, it became quite clear that he was armed, and that he hadn't made much effort to conceal his weapon. Unless of course that really was a table leg down the back of his shirt, and not a mace.

 

Doubtful.

 

Still, he wasn't causing trouble, not yet. Best to stick close, though. He straightened, and moved closer, watching silently.

 

As Glen drew closer, he caught the mace carrier's words, spoken in a low, falsely friendly voice. "--mine to demand, if I choose to," he was saying. He dropped a heavy hand onto the shoulder of the man he'd been leaning over. "You should know better than to argue."

 

Shaking down people in the bar. Again, not something he could interfere with, but not a good sign. Especially if things turned violent. He moved into the mace carrier’s field of view, not saying a word. Maybe he'd take the hint, and leave his business outside the bar.

 

Mace glanced up, spotted Glen, and shook his head. An obvious  _ stay out of this _ gesture.

 

“I handed in my share already,” said Mace's target. “Check with Kjoter if you think I didn’t. I’m square.”

 

“If I say I’m here to collect, then you pay up. You think I care what you  _ think _ you owe or don’t? That’s not your decision to make. You disagree, you can make a complaint.” Mace reached for the target’s coat, presumably to search his pockets. One of the target’s companions jumped to his feet, sending his chair over with a clatter.

 

“Hands off!” he snapped. Mace gave him an annoyed look, and bodily hauled his target out of his chair by the front of his coat.

 

"Don't think so," said Mace, voice level.

 

“Break it up,” Glen said, putting all the authority he could muster into his voice. “This bar ain't your hunting grounds. Don't care if you shake the bastard down, but you do it  _ outside _ , understood?”

He looked over the target's companions. “That includes you lot. Start anything, I’ll be  _ glad _ to finish it.” He gave the table his most unsettling grin.

 

The target's buddies backed off, choosing -- wisely -- to wait for their friend at a safe distance.

 

"Shove off, hired hand," said Mace, showing no such level of intelligence. "You don't tell me where I can and can't do my job."

 

“Actually, I do. See the sign?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

_ We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, _ it said.

 

Mace narrowed his eyes.

 

He turned to the target, exchanging his grip on the man's coat for a finger in the man's face. "You. Don't move."

 

Then Mace turned to Glen, slowly. "I haven't seen you before. You must be new, yeah? Well let me explain. I'm not here on my own business. I'm here on Kjoter's. And you don't interfere with Kjoter's business. Your Doormaid boss over there," he pointed to Garth, who was watching from behind the bar with arms crossed and a scowl on his face, "knows that. And now you do, too. So  _ stay out of my way _ ."

 

While Mace made his little intimidation speech -- Did he think he was scary? Cute. -- the target and his two buddies beat a hasty retreat in the background. A handful of other customers seemed to decide it was time to call it a night, too, and left right on the trio's heels.

 

“Your victim’s escaping,” Glen said coolly. “You might want to hurry after him.”

 

Mace whirled, found his prey gone, and shouted a string of colorful and remarkably creative obscenities. He turned back to Glen with a snarl, and assigned him a few interesting labels as well.

 

Then he pulled out his table leg, which was indeed a hefty mace, and swung for Glen's ribs.

 

Slow.

 

Glen sidestepped and spun, wrenching the ugly weapon out of Mace's hands as he did so. He tapped the man on the shoulder. “Looking for this?” he asked with a grin.

 

Mace stumbled, eyes popping wide in shock. He stared at Glen, momentarily confounded, then quickly righted himself and adopted a defensive stance. His expression twisted into a glare, and he slowly straightened.

 

"You're going to regret this," he growled. "You never should have messed with me. You'll  _ pay _ ." He stalked away, slamming the door on his way out like a temperamental teenager.

 

Funny, though, how he hadn't tried to take his mace back.

 

He shook his head, and moved next to Garth at the bar.

 

Garth sighed heavily. "That didn't go well."

 

“Could have been worse,” Glen pointed out. “Didn't actually interfere in his unsanctioned shakedown. And didn't injure him. He doesn't have a leg to stand on, if he tries to take his grievance higher.”

He paused.

“You going to fire me, to placate him?” he asked.

 

"No. We'd shuffle you off somewhere else if it'd make 'em happy, but it wouldn't." Garth shook his head. "I don't know. Might be Harwold'll boot him on his ear. But you cost him a collection. He could have been putting money in the Thief King's coffers tonight, and now he'll be out hunting instead. Or down in the crypts complaining, more like. Could be a problem." He worked his jaw, as if literally chewing over the situation. "You'd best just hope old Harwold is in a good mood when your new pal gets there. S'about the only thing you  _ can _ do."

 

Glen sighed. Of course. Well, there was always his usual solution.

_ [Best to inquire beforehand.] _

“What if Harwold was….removed?” he asked, reaching over the bar for one of the cheap bottles of beer. Wouldn't do a damn thing to him, but he actually enjoyed the taste.

 

Garth actually smiled, though it was a bitter smile. "Believe me, if that were a viable option, we'd have done it by now." He sighed again. "But that element's not going away. There's always more kesl where the ones you kill came from. At least as things stand, Harwold mostly has his thumb on them. We get a few like this fellow tonight, but there are... lines... that even his like won't cross where the Below and it's residents are concerned. It's a benefit we can't afford to lose."

 

“Better the devil you know?”

 

Something in the phrase seemed to catch Garth off guard. He was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he finally said, voice soft. "Better the devil you know."

 

It seems he'd hit a nerve. He took a drink of his beer. “So, what now?”

 

"Hn. Nothing much. You want to go home for the night, you can, but I doubt you'll have any trouble so soon. Next few days, watch your back. Keep Below. Coming here's probably fine, but don't go out in the city. And definitely don't wander in the tunnels beyond ours." He shrugged. "That last is good advice anytime, really. You don’t need to hear it from me, I’m sure.”

 

He nodded, and drained the last of his beer, standing. “I’ll keep it all in mind.”

He nodded to Garth, and headed back to the trapdoor.


	22. Educating children in blackjack and foreign lullabies

Ren was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a little girl named Attie in her lap, and the rest of her class arrayed around her. She'd started a group discussion, asking the kids to share things about themselves, especially places they'd been or things they'd done. It was going well, and it would -- she hoped -- make for the perfect lead-in to Glen's arrival.

 

Which should be any minute now.

 

As if reading her mind, Glen appeared in the open doorway. He looked around, appearing somewhat reluctant.

 

She smiled and waved him over. "Come in, sit with us," she said. "Kids, we have a guest today. This is--"

 

"Glen!" said Catharin, bouncing from a seated position to a standing one in one exuberant motion.

 

A roomful of curious faces all turned to look at Glen. From the back of the group, sitting beside Herm, Cassiel signed 'fun?' to Glen while the other students weren't looking.

 

Glen sighed, smiled slightly, and walked in, sitting cross-legged next to her. He waved to the kids sheepishly. “Hullo.”

 

"Hello Glen!" the class chorused back at top volume. Ren hadn't taught them to do that; their previous teacher had. Ren found it rather strange, like some kind of loud but subdued chant.

 

"Some of you know Glen alrea--" 

 

"I know Glen!" said Catharin, cheerfully. "He's really fun! He--"

 

"He's joining me today," said Ren, talking over Catharin before she could say anything to steer the conversation in the wrong direction, "so we can share some things with you about ourselves, just like you've all been sharing with each other."

 

She looked around at them. Little tails wavered in the air, alive with curiosity, and there were already several children who looked like they had questions ready to burst out at the first opportunity. It was obvious that every one of them had heard some form of the rumors going around, and they were eager to hear more about it.

 

"Before you ask, yes: one of the things we're going to talk about is where Glen and I and Cassiel came from." She held up both hands, staving off the babble that broke out at that. "Lots of questions, I know, and you'll get to ask them all. But give us a chance to talk a little bit first, alright?"

 

She turned to Glen and smiled. "Want to start things off?"

 

Glen shrugged, but nodded. “Alright. I guess I should start with my home. Well, what was my home. It's very far away, now. It was a nice place. Came into it after the war, had enough saved up to buy myself a farm.” His voice was quiet, nostalgic. “Had to work hard, but it was better than fighting. Much quieter, for one.” 

 

Many of the children had grown sombre. They were, Ren realized, displaced themselves, and knew about missing an old home.

 

He shook his head. “That's all I’ve got to say. There's….a lot of old stories that are best not told.” He looked around at the kids. “If any of you have questions, ask them one at a time.”

 

Mella raised her hand -- she only had the one hand -- and asked, "Why'd you have to leave your home?"

 

“Some bad things happened. After that….didn’t seem right to stay,” Glen said quietly.

 

"You didn't have to run away?" asked Adan, a thin little boy with a perpetual faint frown.   
  
"It wasn't  _ that _ kind of bad things," another boy, Kit, concluded.

 

Glen nodded. “Left on my own. That was a long, long while ago, though. Long before any of you were born.” He nodded to her. “Your turn.”

 

Ren smiled at him.  _ See? Not so bad. _

 

Then she turned to the kids. "I come from somewhere called the Reaches. It's warmer there, and the land is broken up into lots of little islands. We don't have big cities like Prizton; everyone lives in small villages. My village only had about a hundred people. It was built into the walls of a canyon."

 

“Did you have a farm too?” Jesha asked.

 

She shook her head. "We didn't have farms. We relied on the forest to provide for ourselves; collecting food that grew wild, and hunting. I was--" She nearly said Weaver, but caught herself. "I was very good at... reading the land." Her smile turned a little crooked for a moment. A little bitter. "So I mostly acted as a hunter and a scout."

 

"If you aren't from the same place, how did you meet each other?" asked Sanca. She leaned forward expectantly.

 

Glen gave her a glance. “Well, for my part, I was wandering from place to place. Wasn't too sure what to do next,” he said slowly. “Found myself in an inn, was staying there for a time.”

 

"And I happened into the same place," said Ren.

 

Sanca's eyes positively shone. Ren could guess where the girl's imagination was taking the story.

 

“She told me about the court she'd traveled to, and the Queen who lived there,” Glen continued, smiling slightly at Sanca’s expression. “And why she'd had to run away.”

 

"Was she an evil queen? Had you angered her?" asked Sanca breathlessly.

 

"Of course it was an evil queen!" said Kit. "Royalty are always evil; that's why we don't have any. Just our Brothers."

 

Ren frowned. "That isn't true. All the Courts on the other side of the barrier have queens, and most of them are decent people. Even the less decent ones aren't actually  _ evil _ . And Greenstone's queen... well, we thought she was evil, but we turned out to be wrong."

 

Sanca looked confused by this turn in the tale. "But... then what happened?"

 

“Her closest advisor dabbled in the worst of magics, convincing the queen to pervert the bond that existed between queen and subjects, draining their life away. We thought the queen at fault, but when she died and the advisor fled, we found out the truth. And so my friends and I went after her.” He looked around the circle, watching each of them in turn. “I nearly died in the process, but she was slain.” He pointed at his eye. “As you can see, the battle left it's marks.”

 

"Is that what happened to your arm?" asked Natham. Several of the others gave him startled or disapproving looks. A few glanced furtively at Glen, obviously wondering the same thing.

 

"You’re not spos’d to ask people about... about... that kind of stuff!" said one of the youngest, a boy named Sipio.

 

Glen shook his head. “It's alright. But no. The arm has to do with why I left my home,” he said softly. “It's….not something I like to talk about.” His unburnt arm held the other close to his side in an unconscious gesture, and he went silent.

'Finish?’ his fingers flicked at Ren.

 

Ren rested a hand on Glen's arm, a subtle reassurance, and continued the story, pulling the group's attention back to herself. "Because of what Verlel -- the woman who used the dark magic -- did and what happened in consequence, the Court of Greenstone was almost destroyed. The people survived, but they lost their homes. Greenstone needed to rebuild, and Glen's people needed land, so Glen and I helped negotiate an agreement between the two so they could help each other. After that, we set out to do the same with all the other Courts, acting as ambassadors."

 

Glen nodded, frowned, and then surprised her by speaking. “After that….long story short, we realized there was something here, and were sent to investigate and make contact. When we got near the barrier, we tried to pull away, but it sucked us in. We crash-landed.”

 

"Did you use magic?" asked Eali.

 

"Yeah, I thought nobody could come through the barrier. How did you?"

 

"My dad says--"

 

Glen held up his hands until they quieted. “Neither of us can do magic. And we were trying to get  _ away _ from the barrier when we saw the storm it made. Something pulled us through, don't know what.”

He sighed. “This place is strange to us. A land where magic is inherently evil... that is something deeply wrong to think about. I’ve been meaning to ask...any of you know why magic corrupts here? Because back home, it doesn’t.”

 

This announcement was met with shocked looks and a long beat of silence. Then, timidly, Herm spoke up, in his soft, shy voice. "It... doesn't?"

 

Glen shook his head. “Not at all. It's as much a part of the world as the earth itself, not the….corruption….that’s infested Finyar.”

 

"Magic is a fundamentally unstable force," said Mella, in the tone of one reciting facts by rote. "It corrupts all who use it."

 

"Common theme in those awful books," Ren said quietly to Glen.

 

Glen nodded to Mella. “That's true. On  _ Finyar. _ Not outside the barrier. Hell, any Shikanen cleric who came here would start trying to purify the ground, the magic is so corrupted here.”

 

"What's a Shikanen?" asked Illa.

 

"What's a cleric?" asked Adan, at the same time.

 

"You can't purify magic out of things," Kit pointed out with prim authority.

 

“In reverse order….it’s corruption they're removing, not magic, a cleric is a mage whose powers are powered by faith in the divine, and Shikanen…” He paused, and pulled a deck of cards from under his coat. He shuffled through it for a moment, then drew one card, and handed it to Attie, still perched in Ren's lap. “Hand that around, won't you dear?”

 

Attie bent over the card, studying it intently. Finally she passed it into the circle. "It's a dhone-person," she said.

 

Glen shrugged. “Don't know what a dhone is, but sure it's correct. Shikanen are about eight feet tall, very strong, and very tough. Nice people, if a bit blunt.”

 

The card passed from hand to hand. Some of the kids looked curious, others gave the image wary or confused looks, and a few dismissed it, apparently not willing to believe the pictured being was real.

 

A barrage of questions and commentary wasn't far behind.

 

"They live outside the barrier?"

 

"Can they get through?"

 

"They look so strange!"

 

"Do they eat people?"

 

"Can they talk?"

 

"Did you ever meet one?"

 

“I wanna meet one!”

 

“I  _ don’t _ .”

 

"What do--"

 

Ren broke in. "Hey, hey, slow down, huh? If you want answers, you have to give us time to give them."

 

“They don't eat people, for one,” Glen said. “And considering nobody's heard a tale of warships searching for us, it's safe to assume they're stuck outside. And they can speak, of course. I know their language.”

 

“They speak a different  _ language _ ?” said Attie, looking surprised.

 

“Of course,” Glen said. “Why wouldn't they?”

 

Attie shrugged, giggling.

 

“You know it?” said Herm, curious. “Do you speak it?”

 

“Yeah! What’s it sound like?”

 

Glen paused, and closed his eyes. Then he began to sing, in a soft, crooning voice.

 

_ “Gutan abend, gute nicht,  _ _   
_ _ mit roisen bedecht,  _ _   
_ _ mit naglain besteckt,  _ _   
_ _ schlupf unter die eck:  _ _   
_ _ murgen frue, wenn gott vill,  _ _   
_ _ varst du wayder geweckt,  _ _   
_ _ morgen frue, wenn gott vill,  _ _   
_ _ varst du wayder geweckt.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Gutan abend, gute nicht,  _ _   
_ _ von englein bewicht,  _ _   
_ _ die zeigen im draum  _ _   
_ _ dir Christkindleins baum:  _ _   
_ _ Schlaf nur sulag und suis,  _ _   
_ _ schau im draum's Paradies,  _ _   
_ _ schlaf nur selig aund suis,  _ _   
_ __ schau im draum's Paradies.”

 

He trailed off into silence.

 

All of the kids went quiet as Glen sang, listening. Ren did, too. Glen's singing voice was wonderful -- gentle and rich. "Beautiful," she said, softly. She leaned against him for a moment, shoulder to shoulder.

 

Sanca sighed happily and smiled at them, starry-eyed.

 

"What did it mean?" asked Kit.

 

“It's a lullaby,” Glen said simply. “One of the first things I learned in their language, after I came across a family of them.”

 

Adan still had the card they'd been passing around, and was apparently more curious about it than about languages and lullabies. "What is this anyway?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

 

“Playing card,” Glen said, taking the deck back out and fanning it. “That one's a joker.”

 

“Funny shape for a playing card,” said Adan. “What’s a joker for?”

 

“Depends on the game,” Glen said. “Sometimes, nothing, and you remove them. Others, they can be the best card in it.” He began to shuffle the deck. “I’ll need that back, by the way.”

 

Adan passed it back.

 

“What kind of games?” asked Mella.

 

Glen smiled. “All sorts.” He shuffled the joker back in, then started dealing out cards to the kids, two at a time. “The first one I’m gonna teach you is called blackjack….”

 


	23. Bad dreams

Cassiel was sound asleep, with the blankets wrapped, cocoon-like, around him and Freki sprawled across his legs.  A tearing, ear-piercing scream shattered that sleep, sending him jolting out of bed.  Freki jumped off the bed and barked once; Cassiel tumbled out behind him. Glen! That was Glen's voice!

 

Panicked, Cassiel bolted for the other bedroom, wide-eyed.  Another scream spurred him even faster.

 

The door slammed back on its hinges as he charged in.

 

Ren was there, standing beside the bed, wide-eyed herself. But no Glen. Where was Glen?

 

What was Ren looking up at the-- Cassiel's mouth dropped open as he turned his attention overhead.

 

Glen was somehow _ on the ceiling _ , finger and toetips digging into the minute gaps of the room’s stone wall. His eyes were blank and unseeing, his clothes soaked with sweat.

 

"Glen!" Cassiel moved around to try to put himself in Glen's line of sight, though it didn't seem to make any difference. "Glen! What's wrong? Glen?"

 

Something in Glen's eyes seemed to focus, and he held out a hand in a negating gesture, still clinging to the wall and ceiling with his other three limbs. “Don't.”

 

Cassiel stopped, confused. Don't what?

 

"Glen," said Ren, voice calm in a careful kind of way. "It's alright. You were dreaming again. It's okay now..."

 

Glen closed his eyes, and took several slow, deep breaths. Then, carefully, he climbed back down, his back still facing the wall. His legs skidded out from under him once he reached the floor, and he sat down hard.

“Ow….stupid…”

 

Cassiel went to him, kneeling down beside him with a worried frown. "Are you okay?" he asked. He heard Ren come over as well.

 

Glen sighed, and carded a hand through his unbraided hair. “Nightmares,” he said quietly. “Can't do a thing about some of them.”

 

There was a mark of red on Glen's forehead when he took his hand away, and Cassiel gasped. At the same time, Ren dropped beside Glen, looking shocked. "You're hurt!" she said.

 

Now that Cassiel had calmed down enough to look, he saw that Glen's hands and feet were both covered in scrapes and bruises. His forearms were torn up, too, and his  _ fingertips _ ...

 

"I'll get the medkit," said Ren quickly, jumping up.

 

Glen shrank back against the wall, not saying anything. He drew his knees up to his chest silently.

 

“Sorry,” he finally said, so quietly Cassiel wasn't sure he'd heard.

 

Cassiel shook his head, and hugged Glen, carefully avoiding his injured forearms and hands. He wished he could make it better. He hated to see Glen upset or hurting, and hated even more that there wasn't much he could do about it. It was so frustrating! He wanted to protect Glen, like Glen protected him. He wanted a way to make it better...

 

Ren came back in then, and stopped, blinking at them.

 

"Um. Cassiel?"

 

He looked up. "Yeah?"

 

“Sparks are back,” Glen said softly.

 

Sure enough, there they were. Tiny blue lights playing softly through the air around him and Glen. They were faint, and only a few of them had ventured out of the place inside him where they lived, but it was the first time since coming through the barrier that they had come out at all. It had nearly happened after the incident with the cursed man in the mask; he had felt them stirring then, too, but they had not quite managed to break out of their torpor.

 

Now, though, they brushed the edges of his mind as well as floating through the air, though he had to listen carefully to hear them.  _ here here you-need we-here are-here here here here _

 

Glen looked at the Sparks carefully, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

 

_ dad-Glen hurt dad-Glen sad sad why sad why hurt is-bad why why _

 

_ Nightmare, _ Cassiel thought back to them. Not the word, because the Sparks didn't have words. He gave them his thoughts instead, the raw concepts behind them.  _ Bad past. Hurt, fear, loss, guilt, pain. Comes back in dreams. _ He envisioned Glen on the ceiling. _ Dream scare, hurt himself. _

 

Ren had the medkit open, and she gently turned Glen's hand so the medscan could see how bad the injuries were. Cassiel looked at Glen’s fingertips and tried not to wince.

 

Glen hissed in pain, but didn't pull back, letting Ren work.

 

_ helphelphelp _ the Sparks chanted, an echo of Cassiel's own reaction.

 

_ Can you? _ Cassiel asked them, hopeful.

 

_ help help _

 

Cassiel watched as the Sparks danced across Glen's skin, bathing him in blue glow. Ren paused, watching them.

 

"What are they doing?" she asked, softly as if she might spook them otherwise.

 

"Helping," said Cassiel.

 

But after a moment, he could tell that that wasn't true. Nothing was changing. Glen's injuries remained, unaltered.

 

Eventually the Sparks stopped flickering around Glen and settled in the air around Cassiel still and quiet. He could feel their disappointment. They were surprised by their own failure, and dismayed by it.  _ sorry sorry sorry not-work why not-know sorry not-work sorry sorry... _

 

_ Shh... you tried. _ Cassiel was disappointed too, but he didn't project it.

 

Ren glanced at him, and he shook his head. She picked up the wound spray and began cleaning Glen's injuries as the medscan had instructed.

 

“Sorry,” said Cassiel, to Glen. “I don’t know why they couldn’t help.”

 

Glen shrugged. “Not a problem.”

 

"I--" Cassiel was interrupted by a sudden knocking at the main door.

 

Glen's eyes flicked over to the door, and he nodded to Ren.

 

_ Hide!  _ Nobody had to tell Cassiel that being seen with the Sparks around him would be big trouble. Sensing his distress, they sank under his skin and out of sight.

 

Ren went out into the main room and opened the door, cautious.

 

“Is….everything alright?” Cassiel heard a quavery voice ask. “We heard screams.”

 

"I'm so sorry we disturbed you," said Ren. "Everything's fine. It was just... ah... a bit of a rough night. A bad dream." Cassiel, watching through the open bedroom door, leaned sideways to try to catch a glimpse of who Ren was talking to.

 

A pair of positively ancient Demeki stood outside. Despite their age, both of them stood straight. The woman nodded at Ren, and smiled. “Oh, don't worry, dear. At our age, we don't need much sleep. Know all about bad dreams, too.”

She looked past Ren, and nodded to Glen and Cassiel. “Spot of tea’s what you need, in my opinion.”

 

Ren nodded. "I think you're right about that." She glanced back at Glen, then asked the old woman, "Do you know if we're allowed to use the kitchens at this hour?"

 

The woman shook her head. “That was an invitation, dear, not an instruction. Get your man up and moving, and I’ll go put the kettle on.”

 

"Oh. Um..." Cassiel thought Ren was going to refuse, but something in the old woman's demeanor seemed to change her mind. "Thank you," said Ren, after a moment’s hesitation.

 

The smile returned. “No trouble at all, dear. Oh, but where are my manners. I'm Doreah, and Mr Strong and Silent behind me is Charlus.”

The man, who had remained quiet, nodded politely, and offered Doreah his arm. She took it gratefully.

“Now, we'll let the two of you get cleaned up, but we expect you soon,” she said, before the pair headed down the hall.

 

When Ren shut the door, Glen chuckled.

 

Ren came back and Cassiel gave her his best 'puzzled' look. "Why did you say yes?" he asked her. Wasn't it obvious that Glen needed a break? This was no time for socializing.   
  
"I'm not sure," said Ren, looking uncertain. "I guess I was a little afraid not to. She wasn't really the kind you can say no to." She knelt in front of Glen again. "Are you okay?" She picked up the wound spray again and gently caught Glen's other hand. That one, Cassiel saw, had a ripped fingernail in addition to the rest; it was bleeding an awful lot.

 

Glen nodded. “Still….processing everything,” he said slowly. “Adrenaline rush is a bit more... _ intense  _ for humans than Demeki. Old engineering in our blood.”

 

"Doesn't seem advantageous for your species," said Ren, beginning to bandage Glen's hands. Her voice was light and calm, but Cassiel could tell she had to work at that. Her eyes had the tight look to them that always happened when she was worried.

 

Cassiel patted Glen's arm -- upper arm, since his forearms were scraped and scratched -- and watched quietly. Ren finished with Glen's hands and arms, then moved on to his feet. Cassiel's own toes curled in sympathy for what Glen's impossible climbing had done to him.

 

Ren broke the quiet very gently. "Would it help," she asked, voice soft, "to talk about it?"

 

Glen shook his head. “This nightmare...no. Talking wouldn't help. Never has.”

 

Cassiel wondered what the nightmare had been. The one he'd seen? But Glen had been calm in that one. Sad and hurting, but not scared, not screaming.

 

Ren met Glen’s gaze and nodded. Then finished bandaging, and quietly packed up the medkit.

 

Glen flexed his hands, then nodded. “You do good work.” He looked at the closed door. “Guess we go? Never had a cup of tea I actually liked, but seems rude not to.”

 

"Aw, give tea a chance," said Ren, teasing.

 

"Coffee's better," said Cassiel.

 

Ren smiled. "Hm. Well anyway, yes, I'm pretty sure Doreah would disapprove is we failed to show. Somehow I don't think I want her mad at me."

 

Glen stood. “I’ll go find some proper clothing,” he said. “Something that isn't soaked in sweat.”

 

Cassiel got up and followed Ren out into the main room so Glen could change. Ren looked at him. "You don't have to come. It's the middle of the night; you can go back to bed if you want."

 

Was she kidding? If Glen was going then of course Cassiel was going, too. "Coming," he said.

 

She smiled. "Okay. Thought I'd ask."

  
Cassiel just shook his head. What a silly question.


	24. The British response to trouble

Ren watched Doreah pouring tea for them. Despite her age -- which was clearly considerable -- the woman was graceful and sure. 

 

"Thank you," she said, as Doreah filled her cup.

 

“No trouble at all, dear. I'm always happy to lend a helping hand,” she said cheerily.

 

Glen looked at his own cup, then back at Doreah. Choosing what he obviously saw as the lesser of two evils, he took a sip. His eyes widened, and he looked at his cup as though it had something offensive and devastatingly accurate about his family tree. “It's _ good, _ ” he said, in a vaguely amazed tone.

 

Doreah smiled. “My special blend, dear.”

 

"Must really be something. He barely acknowledges that hot drinks other than coffee exist." Ren smiled at Glen, then took a drink of her own tea.

 

_ Huras herself! _

 

"That... is  _ amazing _ ," she said, after a moment of respectful silence with a mouthful of truly incredible tea.

 

“Coffee?” Doreah asked. “Sounds intriguing.”

 

Ren blinked. Right. Shouldn't have mentioned coffee. "Uh. It's something... Glen's people have. Very strong taste. But it does wake you up. Those two," she nodded to Glen and Cassiel, "love it. I still prefer tea." She shrugged, trying to maintain nonchalance.

 

“Well, you learn something new every day, don't you?”

Charlus, seated next to her, nodded. 

“Well, dear, I’ll make you a deal.”

 

"A... deal?" asked Ren, puzzled.

 

“You tell me a bit more about the three of you, and I’ll ensure you get as much of this tea as you can drink,” Doreah said sweetly.

Glen's bandaged fingers tightened slightly on his cup.  Ren shifted, brushing her elbow against his, letting him know she shared his wariness and would be careful.

 

"I think we'd be getting the better deal, there," said Ren, with a smile. "Alright. What would you like to know?" Ren figured she could tell the same tale they'd told the children. It conveyed the story, without giving away details that were better left unexplained.

 

“Not the sanitized version you told for the benefit of those young fools,” Doreah said calmly. “At our age, we don't have the time to listen to misdirection.” She paused. “And if you're worried about us reacting...poorly, because we don't agree with what you tell us, don't be. We're old enough to remember Finyar as it once was, in stories if not in our own memories.”

 

"Do you mean... before the Brothers?" asked Ren. "Wasn't that..." She didn't finish. If the books were right, that was some six centuries ago. As ruthless as the Brothers were about their doctrine, even  _ stories _ of the time before would have died out generations ago.

 

Doreah nodded. “We're not exactly down here for looking  _ old _ , my dear.”

 

Ren looked over at Glen, unsure how to take this.  Glen shrugged and stared down at his tea.

 

Unhelpful.

 

She studied Doreah, then Charlus.

 

Despite being thinned and greyed by age, hair gone white and horns grown long, she had a strength about her, a fierceness. And Charlus... Charlus was more than aged. He was scarred. He'd fought, probably for years. It was in his eyes as much as on his face and hands, and the physical marks were stark enough. The most alarming was a thick scar across his throat, which quite possibly explained why she had yet to hear him speak.

 

She found she was willing to believe that both of them had seen enough not to be thrown by the stories she and Glen could tell.

 

"Everything we told the kids was true," Ren said slowly. "There were just... things we didn't elaborate on."

 

“Such as?”

 

Glen chuckled, and raised his head. “The Archons, for one. And where my people came from, for another. And just what we're capable of, that's the most important one of all.” He looked at both of them, suddenly intense, active. “What we say doesn't leave this room, understood?”

 

Doreah took a sip of her tea. “I’ve spent longer than you’ve been alive trying to talk sense into young fools like the Doorkeepers, and it's been fruitless. Why bother telling them yet another thing they won't listen to properly?”

 

Glen shrugged. “Fair enough. First off, we could blow up the planet at any moment.”

 

Doreah raised an eyebrow.

 

“I didn't say we were  _ going _ to.”

 

Ren hurried to attempt to correct Glen's approach before Doreah got the wrong idea. Probably a doomed effort, but worth a try. “Glen is quick to point out that his people are very scary, yes. And they… are.” Not helping. “But they're peaceful. They don't attack unprovoked. And they're helping us. All over on the south, they're establishing alliances with the rulers there, trading with them, providing tools and resources we've never dreamed of."   
  
"It's called 'uplift'," Cassiel volunteered cheerfully.

 

Glen nodded. “We provide technology, they send us food and give us land. Helps when you're a displaced military force from an interstellar alliance.” He shook his head. “How we  _ got _ here, that's a long and convoluted tale. Not sure I believe it myself, but my own story’s stranger and more convoluted still. Short version, we're from another world.”

 

Doreah’s eyebrows shot up, and Charlus’s too.

 

“So either there are Demeki on other worlds, or you're not Demeki at all, is that right?” Doreah asked. 

 

"Glen is human," said Ren. "That's why he doesn't have horns or a tail; humans don't."

 

“Interesting.” Doreah looked them over. “I don't mean to pry, but…”

 

"But...?" asked Ren, a touch warily.

 

“Are the two of you...together? Or was that something you told Magda to avoid being separated?”

 

Ren felt her face grow warm. "Oh. Um. Well, Magda, ah, assumed, and... we wanted to stay together, so... But... it's not just that... We..." She stumbled to a halt, not knowing what to say. She wanted to look to Glen, but couldn't.

 

She wanted to say they  _ were _ together. In their own way. They were feeling it out, seeing what they could each ask of themselves and each other. But she didn't know how to say that without implying too much. Or too little.

 

Doreah nodded, though, a warm smile on her face. “Good. I’m happy for the two of you. And for the little one. Everyone needs a parent.”

 

Finally managing to look over at him, Ren found that Glen had gone a remarkable shade of red. She wondered if it matched her own.

 

Cassiel looked over at the two of them and grinned. "They get like this sometimes," he told Doreah, conspiratorially.

 

Glen made a strangled noise, then cleared his throat. “Anything else you want to know?” he finally asked.

 

“Our own legends mention Archons,” Doreah said. 

 

"Finyar has... or, had?... Archons?" said Ren, surprised.

 

“Servants of the King of the Gods, Zeruaita. They haven’t been seen in uncounted centuries, and I doubt they’re the same thing as yours, anyhow,” Doreah said. “What are yours like?”

 

"Terrifying," said Ren, quite serious. "You could easily mistake them for deities; they're that powerful. Three of them reduced a centuries-old, magically-fortified castle to nothing but a glassy patch of earth in  _ minutes _ , and honestly, any one of them could have destroyed it without help, and not broken a sweat doing it." She shook her head, and glanced sidelong at Glen. "I sound like you now," she said, smiling.  Glen chuckled.

 

Then she went on. "That said, don't get the wrong idea. If they were bent on destruction, nothing could stop them; but they  _ aren't _ . They just want peace and a safe place for themselves and their people."

 

“Doubt most on Finyar would see it that way,” Glen said darkly.

Charlus nodded.

 

“Well, seems we don't have much to worry about, provided nobody panics,” Doreah said. “Thank you both.”

 

"You're... welcome?" Ren hesitated. Then said, "Um... what do you mean, 'don't have much to worry about'?"

 

“The three of you are the first new thing on Finyar in six centuries,” Doreah said patiently. “And I know you won't be the last. At least, not if any of them are remotely like the three of you.”

She shook her head. “It's not a matter of if they come, it's a matter of when. And now I know what to expect.”

 

"Oh." Ren was quiet for a moment. "I hope you're right," she said.

 

“So do I, dear.”


	25. Oh joy, someone poked the bear

Glen watched carefully as the last of the patrons staggered out, then locked and barred the door. Then he went back to the bar, waiting patiently.

 

Garth came out of the back and scanned the room appraisingly. "Inn's still standing." He looked Glen over. "Got no holes in you." Then looked down at himself. "No holes in me, either." Very seriously, he gave Glen a nod and held out a small pouch. "Well done. Here's your pay." 

 

_ [Amusing.] _

No, it wasn't. He still smiled as he took the pouch, though. “Living expenses deducted?” he asked.

 

Garth nodded. "All taken care of." He leaned on the bar. "Mean it, though. You've done a good job with this place. I always served a rough crowd; I always meant to. Good way to keep an ear out. But getting 'em to behave themselves while they're here..." He let out a growling sigh. "Anyway. Good work."

 

He nodded. “Thanks.”

 

From the kitchen came a sharp, two-note whistle, Sans' signal that there was someone at the back door.

 

Glen nodded to Garth, and moved to the back. At this hour? Nothing respectable. Perhaps a runaway?

 

Sans nodded to Glen as he came into the kitchen, then gestured toward the door. Even as he did, another knock sounded against the wood, short and insistent. When Glen opened it, he found a man standing there. Not a familiar face, and it was a face that would have been easy to remember, with a permanent, scarred-over split in his lower lip.

 

He looked Glen over, and smiled. "Glen, right?"

 

He tilted his head. “Yes?”

 

"You mind stepping outside with me? Need to talk to you about something." He glanced past Glen, to where Sans stood at the counter with a chopping knife conspicuously bereft of anything to chop, and Garth, arms folded, loomed in the doorway to the main room. "Private matter," Split-Lip said.

 

Glen nodded, and tossed the pouch of coin back to Garth. “Make sure that gets handed on to Ren,” he said, stepping outside, thumbs hooked into the belt-loops of his jeans. He closed the door behind him. “Let me guess. Harwold. You one of his messengers?”

 

A nod. "Yes. Messenger, and a bit more than that. You see, a slight... issue... has been brought to Harwold's attention. Some interference on your part in the doings of an associate of his. You might recall the incident? Four nights ago?"

 

“I recall. You here to make an example?” Glen asked, watching the man warily. “Get it over with. I'm long overdue.”

**[He will not be fast enough.]**

_ [But the consequences…] _

_ [Handle this fool carefully. Then move to the serpent’s head.] _

 

The man smiled again. "No, no, you misunderstand," he said, voice friendly. "We're not  _ thugs _ . There’s a process for this kind of thing. I'm sure you were made aware that noninterference is part of the agreement between the Thief Lord and your Doorkeepers, yes? But things happen, sometimes rules are broken. Understandable. All I came for is to collect a simple fee. You understand? Quite fair, really. Revenue was lost due to your actions, and all Harwold asks is that it be repaid."

 

“Huh. If that's all, then I need you to send a message back. Tell Harwold I’ll pay recompense in person, and I’ll be along shortly.”

**[And if this doesn't work?]**

_ [Knife. Back alley. Thermite.  _ Then _ go to Harwold.] _

**[....I think we're a bad influence on you.]**   
  
Split-Lip shook his head. “Any who wishes to can take a grievance before the Thief Lord. But I'm here to collect coin, not declarations. You'll pay now, or deal with the consequences of refusing."

 

“Care to spell those out?” he asked genially. “Don't appreciate mucking about with vague threats.”

 

"Fine. That's the bit where we  _ are _ thugs, if we have to be. So if that’s how you want to handle this--" He swung at Glen. Pretty quick for someone who'd probably never had formal training. Not quick enough, of course.

 

Glen  _ moved _ , and the stiletto slipped between his ribs neat as you please, cutting the man's heart to ribbons. The man sagged, and Glen caught him. No real blood flow, no obvious stains. Good.

He arranged the man's body so that he carried it without it being obvious that was what he was doing, and stepped out of the alley, affecting a drunkard's walk. He needed a couple blocks of separation from the bar at least, and a man carrying someone dead or unconscious was far more suspicious than a couple drunks wandering about.

 

It was an older part of the city, the buildings worn and sagging, some of them seeming to lean on each other for support like drunken buddies themselves. The street was narrow and failed to run a straight line. This late at night -- or early in the morning, really -- there were few people moving about, many of them drunk. Most that weren't were on the move, heads down and eyes wary, eager to go about their business in one piece and apparently not liking their own odds. A few were obviously predatory, but no one made a move toward Glen and his burden.

 

It didn't take long for him to find a suitable alleyway, some distance from Garth’s bar. He headed down it, and laid his burden to rest out of sight of the main street.

Then he started going through the man's pockets. If Harwold was smart, he wouldn't have the route be common knowledge, but this man seemed stupid enough to...jackpot. A map of entrances. Crude, barely more than a few scribbles, but enough for him. Looked like there was a couple more blocks to go to the closest entrance.

Time to handle the body, then.

He took out a heavy pouch, and began to pour metallic powder onto Split-Lip's corpse. Once enough was poured, he closed the pouch back up, pocketed it, and tossed a magnesium detonator onto the corpse. He headed out of the alley, and waited until he was a block away before triggering the tiny explosive.

The flames would deal with any evidence, he knew. Now, to deal with Harwold. 

**[Burning bush approach?]**

_ [Burning bush approach.] _

 

The place marked on the map turned out to be a muddy yard behind a tannery. It was the kind of place you wouldn't hang around in without a good reason, which probably did a good job keeping bystanders away. There was someone there, though. A small, thin someone loitering among the huge, broken vats at the back of the lot. As he came into the yard, the figure receded deeper into the shadows and went still.

 

He sighed. Of course there'd be guards. He started walking towards the figure, hand on the hilt of his kukri. Best to get things over with.

 

"You don't have to threaten your way in," said a young, slightly wheezy voice. "It my job to take you." The figure stepped half out of the gloom, revealing a hornless child of about thirteen. Boy or girl was anyone's guess. Their tail lashed nervously behind them, but they stood steady otherwise. "You want to go Down, right?"

 

“Need directions, not a guide,” Glen said.

A child. Great. This complicated things.

**[Refuse to harm]**

“Give me that much?”

 

"Only one way Down," said the child. "I lead, you follow."

 

Okay. Looked like he was knocking the kid out while  _ inside _ the tunnels. Joy. “Fine. Get your ass in gear.”

He reached into his coat, and pulled out his mask, removing hat and patch to pull it on. The hat went back on, but the patch vanished into a pocket.

 

The kid stared at the mask for a moment, then shrugged and motioned for Glen to follow.

 

They climbed into one of the broken vats, which turned out to be sitting on top of an old drain. The drain had no cover, just rusty-looking iron rungs leading down into blackness. The kid unwound a length of rope from around their waist and handed one end of it to Glen. "No lights. If you have a match or something, don't use it. Light attracts  _ Them _ . Just hold the rope an' I'll lead."

 

With that they began to descend into the drain.

 

Glen followed. A specific pattern of blinks, and the blackness was as bright as daylight.

Night vision.  _ Extremely _ useful.

The kid had no such advantage as they stepped down into the sewer, but he placed one hand on the wall, following it. The tunnel ran straight for a few meters, then branched. The kid felt along the edge of the left-hand turning until they found a rough arrow chiseled in the rock. Evidently reassured, he continued in the direction of the arrow.

That was it? Sloppy. But then, this was a medieval society. No need for anything else.

He reached into his coat, and pulled out a slim needle, then jabbed it into the side of the kid’s neck in one smooth motion. The kid collapsed, but Glen caught him.

He’d wake up in a few hours, with a pounding headache, possibly some muscle pains. And no memory of the past few minutes. Much better than rougher methods.

It was the work of a few short moments to relocate the kid back above and safely out of the way. Then he set off again, following the arrows.

 

Time to cause some chaos. He had a few ideas already.

**[I like this plan.]**

_ [You would.] _


	26. Theme Songs can be misleading

Alyce watched Harwold holding court from a back corner of the room, where the ceiling curved down to meet the floor and the shadows persisted. The room's odd, half-barrel shape had an explanation; it was a burial vault. It's former occupants had long since been evicted, but the room's purpose was still depicted in the uncountable ceramic tiles inlaid in the walls. Above the dais, for example, a dark, feathery figure with large, curling horns towered over a corpse wearing a silver circlet on its head. A religious image? Or some mythicised piece of the story of whatever family had once been laid to rest here?

 

Questions with hidden answers. Alyce's favorite kind.

 

She smiled, returning her attention to the room's actual occupants.

 

Harwold sat on his heavy chair, close to the edge of the dais at the head of the vault. Barely in his twenties, with curling brown hair and a boyish face, he looked more like a merchant's son than ruler of the city's seedy underbelly. Of course, he  _ was _ a merchant's son. A black market merchant, a veritable land pirate of a man whose death had supplied his son with a nice fortune and a small army of loyal-to-the-coin men. Young or not, he'd put both to good use.

 

"That's my  _ street _ ," said one of the men Harwold was currently hearing a dispute from.

 

"He hasn't touched it in weeks," argued the other. "It was fair game!"

 

"It  _ wasn't _ ," insisted the first. Big burly guy, voice like gravel, still sounded like a five-year-old. Alyce laughed quietly.

 

"Alright, alright," said Harwold. "How about this? You," he nodded to the poacher, "operated in an area you knew was already claimed, so the gains you took are forfeit to him."

 

"But-!"

 

Harwold raised an eyebrow, and the guy shut up.

 

The overgrown child grinned. "Thank y--"

 

Harwold put a hand up. "And  _ you _ obviously weren't paying attention, or you would have caught him sooner. So, by the guild laws regarding competency, everything you just gained from him is forfeit to me."

 

And that shut  _ him _ up. Both of them stood there for a moment, probably trying to figure out where they'd gone wrong.

 

"Questions?" Harwold asked. The two shook their heads. "Good. Then go and see Kjoter. Work out the details with him."

 

And that was the other thing he'd put to good use: that lawyering streak of his.

 

Alyce approved.

 

Another man approached the dais. Harwold gave him a nod.

 

"I have a complaint. A man hired me to--"

 

The distant sound of violins intruded on the court, gradually growing louder. At the same time, a shout of alarm came from outside, and was just as swiftly cut off with a gurgle.

 

Weapons appeared in hands all over the vault, as people turned toward the sound. Some grim, others eager for a fight. Alyce spotted several of Talm's men, already in position at points around the room. Talm himself pushed through the crowd. "Everyone stays where they are," he said, voice calm and authoritative.

 

He gestured, and two of his men slipped out of the room, closing the heavy metal doors -- gold plated, but iron underneath -- behind them.

 

"This some kind of joke?" someone snarled, as the violin played on.

 

"If it is," said Harwold, still seated and looking annoyed, "I for one am not laughing."

 

Smoke began to drift under the doors, and a sourceless voice began to sing.

 

_ When the devil is too busy _

_ And death's a bit too much _

_ They call on me- by name you see _

_ For my special touch! _

_ To the gentleman I’m Miss Fortune _

_ To the ladies I’m Sir Prize _

_ But call me by any name _

_ A-ny way it's all the same… _

 

That was when the screams started, as the violins continued to play, and the voice sang over it all, growing closer and closer as the smoke continued to billow in from under the doorframe.

 

_ I’m the fly in your soup _

_ I'm the pebble in your shoe _

_ I'm the pea beneath your bed _

_ I'm a bump on ev’ry head _

_ I'm the peel on which you slip _

_ I'm the pin in ev’ry hip _

_ I'm the thorn in your side _

_ Makes you wriggle and writhe _

 

Nobody was paying any attention to Talm's orders by this time, people yelling and arguing with each other about what to do. Rush the door! No, bar it! No, ambush whoever walked in! Mostly just a lot of shouting, but someone with half a brain did drop the bar in place. Alyce slipped through the shoving, angry, panicky crowd with deft ease, and made her way up onto the dais. Talm was trying to convince Harwold to take shelter in his office and bar the door, but of course Harwold wouldn't. Couldn't, if he wanted to keep an ounce of respect.

 

She ignored them, simply using the elevated position to watch the door. Her fingers curled around a dagger she hadn't even realized she'd drawn; she gripped it tighter, listening. What in the Sight of All Brothers was going  _ on _ out there?

 

_ And it's so easy when you're evil _

_ This is the life, you see? _

_ The devil tips his hat to me _

_ I do it all because I’m evil _

_ And I do it all for free _

_ Your tears are all the pay I’ll ever need _

 

_ Something _ slammed into the vast doors, making them rock back on their hinges. Then it hit again. And again. And again.

 

_ While there's children to make sad _

_ While there's candy to be had _

_ While there's pockets left to pick _

_ While there's grannies left to trip _

_ Down the stairs _

_ I’ll be there _

_ I’ll be waiting round the corner _

_ If it's a game I’m glad I’m in it _

_ 'Cause there's one born every minute _

 

The doors were looking battered now, the bar starting to bend under the repeated blows, half-obscured by the smoke. Finally, they broke open, a great impact shearing the bar in half as an immense cloud of smoke poured in, and that damnable voice continued to sing.

 

_ And it's so easy when you're evil _

_ This is the life, you see? _

_ The devil tips his hat to me _

_ I do it all because I’m evil _

_ And I do it all for free _

_ Your tears are all the pay I’ll ever need _

 

A pair of red eyes glared from the center of the smoke cloud. They moved forward, dim shadows resolving into the shape of a dark figure in a long coat and broad-brimmed hat.

 

_ I pledge my allegiance _

_ To all things dark and dire _

_ Promise on my damned soul _

_ To _

_ Do as I am told _

_ For _

_ Lord Beelzebub has never seen _

_ A soldier quite like me _

_ Not _

_ Only does his job but does it happ-i-ly _

 

The figure swept off his hat, and bowed deeply.

 

_ I'm the  _ fear _ that keeps you awake _

_ I'm the shadows on the wall _

 

Were the shadows getting darker?

 

_ I'm the  _ monsters _ they become _

_ I'm the nightmare in your skull _

 

What on Finyar  _ was _ this thing? 

 

_ I'm the  _ dagger _ in your back _

_ An extra turn upon the rack _

_ I'm the quivering of your heart _

_ A stabbing pain, a sudden start _

 

The figure straightened, staring balefully up at Harwold with unblinking red eyes, as the violins and the sourceless voice both began to fade away, singing one last chorus.

 

_ And it's so easy when you're evil _

_ This is the life, you see? _

_ The devil tips his hat to me _

_ I do it all because I’m evil _

_ And I do it all for free _

_ Your tears are all the pay I’ll ever need… _

_ Aye, your tears are all the pay I'll  _ ever _ need. _

 

It waited, and watched, wreathed in smoke and shadow.

 

Harwold stared back, saying nothing for a long moment. His expression was hard, eyes narrowed, but Alyce could read him better than most. He might make a good show of 'unruffled and angry', but he was scared.

 

So was she.

 

No one in the room moved. All the threats and bravado had evaporated, leaving behind faces gone white and pinched; even the burliest figures pressed close to the walls. The mob had no aggression left, only fear, which was more dangerous and less helpful. 

 

Finally, Harwold spoke. "Who are you?"

 

The figure continued to stare for a long moment, before it finally spoke, voice a flat buzzing rumble. “ _ Who _ is but an approximation of  _ what _ , and  _ what _ I am is something none of your kind are prepared to understand. But one of your number knows me regardless.”

 

Had one of their number turned to sorcery? Alyce swore under her breath. She hadn't heard so much as a rumor.

 

"And which one is that?" asked Harwold.

 

The figure shrugged. “Don't know his name. Know his weapon.” It tossed a mace out of the smoke cloud. “Does that serve you well enough?”

 

An ugly weapon, crudely made. Alyce recognized it. Daryl, a low-level enforcer. One of Kjoter's underlings. Far as she knew, he wasn't dead, which raised the question of how this... thing... had his signature weapon.

 

Harwold addressed the… thing. "How does he know you?"

 

“He has made an annoyance of himself, by involving you. His death would have attracted unwanted attention, inconvenient questions. Thus, this conversation, which attracts the  _ correct _ sort of attention.” Despite it's face-- if it even had one-- being shrouded, it somehow gave the impression of grinning. “He can answer many of your questions, like as not. But the one you're thinking? About whether the Brethren could handle me? They can't. And when they were finished with, you would quickly follow them.”

It paused, and looked past Harwold, at the mural.

“You have alarmingly appropriate taste in decor. Death threats in front of a death god.” It  _ chuckled _ . What.

 

"Nothing you've said so far  _ means _ anything to me," said Harwold, sounding annoyed. Usually that wouldn't have surprised her -- he hated not knowing what someone else was getting at -- but considering who, or what, he was talking to...

 

"Enough with that,” he went on. “What do you  _ want _ . Why are you  _ here _ . Give me a straight answer, or leave."

 

They were demands, more than questions. This was Harwold's 'you will regret messing with me' approach, and Alyce had seen him employ it many times with great success. Rivals, challengers, upstarts, some of them who had a decided upper hand, who he should by all rights have backed down from. But they'd all buckled, when he came at them like this. It was hard to argue with that level of murder-you-where-you-stand self-determination. Harwold's reputation for always having something up his sleeve didn't hurt, either.

 

Alyce wondered, in a detached sort of way, if this was finally the time when it would get him killed. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath.

 

The figure stood stock-still for a moment. Then it chuckled again. “Either you’re so stupid it's amazing you can breathe, or you’ve got a set so large they should have their own gravity well,” it said. “Fine by me.” It removed its hat, reached up to it's face, and pulled upward.

 

Alyce stiffened, tail prickling as the tip bottle-brushed, but in an instant it was over, and the creature had revealed its 'face' to be some kind of mask. Underneath... 

 

...was a man.

 

The face was weathered and scarred, but it wasn't the face of some monster. Except, perhaps, for the red eye. Alyce had seen that kind of thing before, though. It  _ was _ odd that he had no scars where his horns had been taken, but he appeared otherwise normal.

 

_ Sorcerer _ , she thought, and at the same time heard the word echoing from half a dozen mouths around the room.

 

The man laughed. “You see something you don't understand, and you call it sorcery. No wonder you haven't advanced beyond gunpowder.” He pulled a cylinder from under a coat, and tossed it up to Harwold. “Pull the pin, count to three, and throw.”

 

Harwold caught it, but only held it gingerly, raising an eyebrow at the man. Good. If he'd done any different, Alyce would have smacked him.   
  
"I think not," said Harwold. Alyce edged up beside him to peer at the cylinder. Talm already had his hand out to take the mystery object, but Harwold didn't give it to him, instead holding it up to examine for himself. "What is it?"

 

“Smoke grenade.” The man motioned to the cloud of smoke, beginning to dissipate. “Those and some remote speakers put on enough of a performance to fool you.”

 

"...Performance." Harwold stared at the man. "You're saying you're not a sorcerer, but you  _ wanted _ to appear to be?"   
  
Good question. Was he mad? Suicidal? Or just dumb?

 

Was it a bluff, and he really was using magic? Why pretend otherwise?

 

The man grinned. “It got your attention, did it not?” He spread his arms wide. “Every person here, dancing on strings made of smoke and mirrors.”

 

Ah. Mad, then.

 

The watching crowd broke out in confused babble. Harwold, however, went quiet. He sat back in his chair, studying the stranger with sharp intensity. The room quieted again, all eyes on Harwold now. Everyone down here knew Harwold's temper, and knew that the quieter he became, the angrier he was underneath.

 

"You do have my attention," said Harwold, in a quiet voice laced with silky threat. "I'm not sure you're going to like that, in the long run. But please, do go on."

 

The man nodded to the mace, still on the floor. “A shakedown attempt, in Garth’s bar, four nights ago. Apparently the man who failed at it went whining to you, despite it being his own fault his victim got away. You obviously ruled in his favor, since you sent someone after me to make me pay for your man's stupidity.” He shrugged. “The man you sent is dead and ashes, now. And I’m here to ask you to leave me the hell alone, to stop escalating. Because you're headed down a road that only ends one way- you dead, your organization in ruins, and this  _ fine _ tomb aflame.” He grinned again, but this time there was no humor in it. “Your choice, if you really want things to go that way. Just making sure you’re aware of the consequences.”

 

This... was bad. Alyce knew it even before she saw the tic start in Harwold's right hand, the one that meant he was working very hard not to demonstrate his ability to pull a knife even faster than she could.

 

"You... came here... to--"

 

Movement. Alyce looked up, setting eyes on a man who had stepped free of the crowd and raised his crossbow, just as the bolt flew. She judged the aim in a split second; he was targeting the stranger, and his aim was good. It was going to hit him square in the back.

 

The man felt it coming, somehow, and spun, a knife coming free of his belt, chopping the bolt out of the air even as his other hand sent another blade spinning towards the crossbowman in reply. “Rude!” the man said, walking over to the still-twitching corpse to retrieve his blade. He pulled it free from where it had lodged in the man's eye socket with an indescribable noise, wiped it on the body’s shirt, sheathed it, and turned back to Harwold. “Now, where were we?”

 

Harwold started to speak, but Alyce leaned forward, whispering in his ear.

 

"Talk to him in private. This show has gone on too long already. Tongues are going to wag."

 

Harwold considered. Then stood.

 

"Come into my office," he told the stranger. "I would have a word with you in private."

 

Talm immediately began to protest. "He kills a man right in front of you and now you want to be alone with him?"

 

_ Good job, Talm, _ though Alyce.  _ A little louder, so they can hear you in the back. _

 

"Are you implying our leader can't handle himself?" asked Alyce, voice pitched to carry without seeming that way.

 

"I-- wha-- No, of course not. But--"

 

"Talm." Harwold nodded once, and Talm went quiet. Harwold turned back to the stranger, and swept a hand toward the heavy wooden door behind his throne. "Well?" he asked.

 

The stranger tilted his head slightly, then nodded. “Acceptable. Let's talk.”


	27. Cassiel and Ren go find a monster

Cassiel wasn't woken by the knocking at the door. He was woken by Freki, tromping back and forth across the bed with no concern for where paw met boy. He stepped twice on Cassiel's head before Cassiel managed to untangle from the blankets and get out from under him. "I'm up, okay? I'm up!" He glared at Freki. Freki offered him a tongue-lolling canine grin in return.

 

_ Then _ Cassiel heard the knocking, and the sound of someone moving around in the main room.

 

He climbed out of bed and cracked open his bedroom door, peeking out. Ren had just reached the front door, already looking worried without even knowing who it was yet.

 

She opened the door.

A young man, horns barely more than twisted nubs, stood there awkwardly. He handed Ren a piece of paper, then backed away, like he was afraid of her reaction. “Message from Garth,” he said briefly.

 

Ren gave the messenger an absent nod, looking down at the paper warily. Cassiel slipped out of his room and came up beside her as she slowly unfolded it and began to read.

 

The messenger took the opportunity to make his escape, bowing out and heading down the hall.  Ren ignored him. She stared at the paper for a long moment, then folded it back up and shut the door.

 

Cassiel waited. Her face, as she turned back, had settled into hard lines. It was ‘gods help anyone who gets in my way right now’ face, and the intensity of it surprised him.

 

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

 

She took a deep breath, and looked down at him, meeting his eye. "Glen is missing. He left Garth's with some thug that came to harass him and he hasn't come back."

 

Cassiel stiffened.  _ What? _ They had to--

 

"I'm going after him," said Ren.

 

"I'm coming too!"

 

"I know. Get dressed."

 

He didn't need telling twice. He ran for his room and scrambled into clothes as fast as he could yank them out of the drawer. Then he strapped on his kukri. When he returned to the main room, Ren was there, and she was armed, too. She had her knife at her hip and her bow in her hand, assembled and strung. Most of the arrows in her quiver had black fletching, but Cassiel noticed a few with red. He wondered what the red ones were for.

 

But this wasn't the time to ask. As soon as he appeared, Ren headed for the door, pausing only long enough to make sure he was close behind her.

 

They didn't speak, as Ren led the way through the halls, which were empty and quiet at this hour. That was just as well, because Cassiel had a knot of worry in his chest too tight for words to squeeze past. How long had Glen been gone? How were they going to find him? Where were they even supposed to look?

 

Ren seemed to have a goal in mind, though. Soon enough, they reached it. She practically jumped up the ladder, then rapped hard on the trapdoor at the top. After a moment, it opened, and the tallest, skinniest Demeki Cassiel had ever seen peered down at them.

 

"I'm Renma," said Ren, and the tall man immediately stepped back, giving them room to climb up into what turned out to be a kitchen. A moment later, another man came in, scowling. He spotted them, and his expression morphed into an uncomfortable mix of sympathy and extreme reluctance. Cassiel knew that look; he'd gotten it lots of times after his Da died, when people saw him coming and wished he'd turn around and leave, because they didn't know what to say to him.

 

The man looked back at Ren. “I'm sorry.”

 

"Don't be sorry yet," said Ren. "Tell me which way he left, and how long ago."

 

“No idea where. They vanished about an hour ago. Closest aboveground route to Harwold’s part of Below is four blocks north,” Garth said. If he even went there, he didn't say, but Cassiel heard it anyway.

 

Ren nodded. “He went out the back?”

 

Garth nodded. “Be careful,” he said.

 

"We will," said Ren. "Thank you."

 

She went to the back door, and Cassiel followed. Ren moved very slowly down the alley, eyes scanning, looking for something. She paused in a couple of places, tail flicking, but didn't tell Cassiel what, if anything, she saw.

 

Cassiel shifted his focus, looking into the not-seen. Nothing. It had been too long; the energies had already settled, and the ripples he and Ren made were the only ones he could see. Disappointment flared, adding a bitter edge to his worry and fear. He felt the Sparks stir in response, soft voices murmuring wordlessly at the edge of his mind.

 

"This way," said Ren quietly. Cassiel blinked in surprise, and she gave him a small, tight smile. "Look there."

 

He looked where she pointed. The ground was all cobblestones, but where the alley met the street there was a low area. It looked like puddles formed there when it rained; the spot had a film of dried mud over it. It was trampled now, soft silt marred by who knew how many footsteps. Far as he could tell, it meant nothing.

 

Ren leaned down, and traced the edge of one of the marks. A sharp line, curved, and part of the tread of a boot.

 

"That's Glen?"

 

She nodded.

 

He tipped his head. "How can you tell?"

 

"Nobody around here has treads like that on their shoes."

 

She was already walking again, and he scrambled to catch up. He felt a little better, having something to go on. But it was a small something, and it didn’t mean Glen was okay. He bit his lip, frowning.

 

They didn't move quickly. Ren wasn't obvious about it, but he saw the way her eyes scoured the street. Watching people -- what few there were -- watching the shadows, and especially watching the ground. She paused each time they passed an alleyway, and when they came to an intersection she stopped on the corner for so long that Cassiel thought for sure she'd lost the trail.

 

But she hadn't, and eventually they moved again. They weren't going north, Cassiel realized. They were going east. Did that mean Glen hadn't been going where Garth thought he might? Where else would he go?

 

Cassiel shivered suddenly. The Sparks were agitated, skittish. He tried to ask them why, but all he got in response was a sense of unease. Ren glanced back. "You alright?" she asked, voice low. He nodded. "It's okay," she said. "We'll find him. Don’t fall behind, though. We don't know who else is out here."

 

She kept moving, and he stayed close by her side, suddenly aware of the way the dark city seemed to loom around them, and how thick the shadows were in the gaps between the unsteady light of the oil-fed streetlamps.

 

As they neared another alley, Cassiel caught a hint of an odd smell. Something burnt and faintly chemical. Ren stopped, eyeing the alley warily. She studied the ground for a long moment, but didn't seem to find anything. She started to move on... then changed her mind, and turned down the alley.

 

A pile of scorched ashes turned out to be the source of the smell. Some of the nearby cobblestones appeared to have melted under the heat before resolidifying.

 

"Some kind of chemical explosive," said Ren, half to herself. "I'd guess we found the thug. Or what's left of him."

 

Cassiel nodded. "Where--"

 

A low, rumbling growl came from the far end of the alley, where the shadows were deepest.  Cassiel froze, staring into the shadows. Beside him, Ren eased her bow off her back and nocked an arrow, sidestepping in front of him. "Back up," she whispered to Cassiel. "Toward the street. Slowly."

 

He took a step back, then another. The Sparks whirled inside him.  _ danger hunter bad danger bad run run _

 

Then he faltered, stumbling to a stop as the source of the growling came forward, appearing out of the gloom one step at a time.

 

The head was heavy and broad, with a long muzzle, lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal an alarming number of very sharp-looking teeth. A thick neck, and then huge, powerful shoulders -- higher than Cassiel's head, almost higher than Ren's -- and heavy forelegs, ending in massive paws with long, sharp claws to match. It's leathery hide was black as pitch and covered with thick, ropey scars. It looked like it had been sliced half to death, yet somehow had survived.

 

It turned its head, fixing vivid red eyes on Cassiel, as the growl deepened. Ren brought her bow up and loosed an arrow straight at the monster’s face.

 

The arrow slammed into its forehead, sinking deep, but the creature didn’t flinch. A sharp hissing noise filled the air, and the arrow dropped off as a thick black liquid poured out of the wound. It dripped off the creature’s muzzle, scoring pockmarks in the cobblestones as it advanced. Within moments, the wound had closed again, another scar where it had been.

 

A small part of Cassiel noted that Ren must be really upset to swear like that. The rest of him was too busy backing hurriedly toward the mouth of the alley to care. Ren was backing up, too, but already had another arrow to her string. She fired three times in quick succession, aiming for the thing's feet, trying to slow it.

 

The first missed as the creature sidestepped, but the other two slammed into its right paw, pinning it to the ground. The hissing filled the air again as it snarled and pulled at it’s trapped paw.

 

Ren grabbed Cassiel by the arm and ran, out of the alley and down the street. But half a block away, she stopped. She shoved Cassiel toward the recessed entryway of a shop. He took cover there, but she didn't follow.  _ no-hide can't-hide run run run, _ the Sparks insisted. But Cassiel stayed, turning instead to see Ren in the middle of the street, bow up, facing back the way they'd come. The arrow on her string was one of the red-fletched ones this time.

 

She waited.

 

For a tense moment, nothing. Then the monster leapt from the alleyway, snarling, and Ren drew and loosed the arrow in one smooth motion, without even appearing to aim.  The arrow shot through the air, and hit the monster with a blinding flash and a deep boom. The creature’s body flew through the air, skidding on the cobblestones, leaving smears of black liquid that fizzed and ate into the stones. Finally, it lay still.

 

Cassiel crept out of his hiding place and followed Ren as she moved cautiously toward the thing. As they got closer, the first thing he made out was that the front edge of the thing's shoulder was a ragged mess of scorched flesh, weeping black fluid. Then he saw that it wasn't just the shoulder. The thing's entire head and neck were gone, its deep chest gaping. The burnt edges sizzled, smoking faintly.

 

The monster's body settled slightly as it's blood -- that's what the black stuff was, he realized -- pooled under it and burned its way into the street where it lay.

 

The Sparks shuddered, then slowly settled, tracing jittery, agitated patterns just under Cassiel's skin. He wrapped his arms around himself, worried that they might show themselves.  _ Stay hidden, _ he thought.

 

_ can't-hide hunters see hunters come can't-hide bad no no no bad _

 

"Come on," said Ren, stepping away from the acid-blooded monster. "There could be more of them, and even if there aren't, people will have heard that. We need to get Below."

 

"But Glen--"

 

"I know. But he probably went Below, too, sooner or later. We can pick up his trail underground, it'll just take longer. Come on, quickly." She put a hand on his back, urging him on.

 

Cassiel heard shouts behind them, just as they turned the corner.  It seemed people had found the monster’s corpse. But none of the shouting voices followed them as they ducked through the alleys and streets back to Garth’s bar.

 

A thump came from behind them.

 

Cassiel jumped, half expecting another of those beasts. Ren grabbed him and spun, shoving him behind her, only to stop with her bow halfway off her shoulder.

 

"Glen!"

 

It was. Cassiel ducked out from behind Ren and ran to him, wrapping his arms around him. He smelled like smoke. What had happened?

 

"Are you alright? What happened?" said Ren, relief evident on her face but worry still in her voice.

 

Glen nodded. “I'm fine. We should get Below. Half the damn city's up in arms right now.”

 

Ren started to ask something, but then just nodded.

 

When they knocked at Garth's door, he answered it with a grim look. When he saw Glen, though, his expression transformed into wide-eyed shock. Cassiel grinned.

 

"Found him," said Ren casually.

 

Glen nodded to Garth. “Things have been dealt with. Might want to lock up, though. City's stirred up.”

 

Garth raised an eyebrow, looking Glen over and ushering them inside. “I’ll just bet it is.” He shut and locked the door behind them.

 

"Alright," said Ren. "What's this about half the city up in arms? Where did you go? What happened?"

 

"Sounds like something I'd like to hear about as well," said Garth. He waved them over to a table tucked into a corner of the kitchen. They all took seats, and Garth leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and waited.

 

"Oh. Huh. Glen..." said Ren, a little nervously. "Is this... going to be something Magda needs to know about, too?"

 

Glen nodded. “Probably.”


	28. Glen breaks out the BIG guns

Harwold’s office was simpler than he'd expected from a leader of a thieves guild, but then again, it wasn't a very large guild. He had his throne as well, for awing others. Inside was likely for those who weren't so easily fooled.

The tapestry behind the thick wooden desk covered a tunnel entrance, he realized as he took a seat. He waited for Harwold to speak, and resisted the urge to grin at the man. He'd pushed him enough.

 

The silence stretched for a long moment, while Harwold studied him. Finally he spoke. "So. That was quite the charade you put on out there." His voice was level, but still tense.

 

He nodded. “Your men should be fine,” he said. “Didn't kill or cripple them. Dosed them with a paralytic. Only one who's dead is your collections man. Fellow with a split lip.” He looked at Harwold, using his best stare. “I trust he won't be followed by others? Because, as far as intimidation goes, you need something much nastier to make me start worrying.” He kept his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He didn't want to seem a braggart. 

 

"No," said Harwold, slowly. "I see that would be unwise." He sighed. "That said, you can see, can't you, that you've put me on the spot? Let’s be plain. You've challenged me in front of my people. I have to respond appropriately."

 

“Even if it ends like I told you it would?” Dammit, he should have known interfering with the man’s territory would have consequences. Yet he’d gone and attacked anyway. Why?

**[He threatened us]**

_ [Escalation was inevitable.] _

He sighed. “I was  _ hoping _ we could come to an arrangement. You stay in charge, I don't have to kill idiots trying to harass Garth’s customers, everyone wins.”

 

"If you would have simply come to me and argued your case..." Harwold stopped, shaking his head. "But now you've made a spectacle of us both. So yes, there will have to be an arrangement. A highly visible one. Perception is everything." He gave Glen a wan smile. "But I hardly have to tell  _ you _ that, do I?"

 

“No. Depends on what I have to do, though,” he said cautiously. “But perhaps I can spin it to your advantage. If you give the impression that I’m at your beck and call…”

 

Harwold paused, raising one eyebrow. "Working off a debt isn't uncommon. And with your skill set... Hm." He went quiet, appearing lost in thought but staring at Glen all the while. Finally he nodded. "You're not all tricks. You made it into the room with me, unvetted and fully armed, despite several layers of protection that should have prevented it. I have... a task. I don't have anyone else who could pull it off, but you? I think you could do it." He nodded to himself, and his eyes took on a hungry look. "Yes. It would solve quite a problem for me, more than enough to make up for the trouble you've caused here. And we could make a splendid show of it for the peanut gallery out there. This could all work out quite well, I think."

 

Glen felt something in the back of his mind. Harwold’s expression was...unnerving. “Don't keep speaking in vagaries, just tell me who you want dead and why,” he said, as bluntly as he could.

 

The bluntness seemed to please Harwold. He smiled, looking almost boyish. Paired with his next words, it came off downright creepy. "His name is Willian, and he's the Commander of the Civic Guard. He's also my uncle, and has gotten it into his head that he knows what I'm up to. Unfortunately, he's got it right. And he's been turning his resources with the Guard to the task of rooting me out. I want him dead before he accomplishes that." 

 

“And I’d want to do this why, exactly? Seems to me all I have to do is wait, and your uncle'll handle this issue for me.”

 

The smile Harwold gave him was both smug and predatory. "Oh, he'll handle it alright. Give him time, he'll find his way down here. First into the crypts... then the mines.... Sooner or later, into the rest of the Below as well. You do realize that the Civic Guard are, in essence, the Brethren's army within the city?" He leaned back, putting on a mockingly contemplative air. "I wonder. What would they think of all the...  _ odd _ ... people our dear Doorkeepers have stashed away down here? Your friends and neighbors. You yourself, for that matter. And of course anyone associated with you." He nodded sagely. "They're very thorough, you know."

 

Glen gave him a grin, and raised his hands. “Don't have much reason to trust you, but seems like something they’d do,” he said. “Fine. Hope you don't need an identifiable body. If he's a threat to me and mine, you're going to have difficulty finding all the pieces.”

 

"I'm so glad we're on the same page," said Harwold. Then he waved a hand. "And no. No proof necessary. You'll be watched. And anyway, his death will hardly go unnoticed. I'll be hearing about it from all over the city. Lots of people will. It's going to be quite advantageous-- But," he shook his head, "that's neither here nor there. Don't worry about the state of the body. The only adjective I care about is 'dead'."

 

He nodded, and stood. “Which of your entrances is most suitable?”

**[Hunt is afoot]**

_ [We  _ will  _ protect them.  _ Whatever _ it takes.] _

 

"Here." He took a slip of paper and wrote out a series of arrows. "When you leave the vault, turn right and go straight for about sixty meters. Take the third left, then start following these. It'll bring you up a few blocks from the Civic Guard headquarters. Big, ugly complex, you can't miss it." He held the paper up, not offering it yet. "Now, when you go out, give me some reluctance, alright? Show them I'm sending you off on a job you don't want to do, but you get no choice. Think you can handle that?"

 

He thought on the implicit threat behind Harwold’s words. Thought on him being responsible for Ren or Cassiel coming to harm.

He didn't need to mask his expression.

 

"Yes," said Harwold, stiffening. "Like that." He handed over the paper. As he stood and went to the door, his right hand twitched several times, but otherwise remained at his side. He opened the door, and waved Glen through with exaggerated graciousness and a thin-lipped stare.

 

He stalked out, pulling his mask on as he went. None of the still-assembled crowd met his eyes as he left the vault behind.

 

The directions Harwold had given him took him out of the crypts and into deeper, rougher-cut tunnels that could only be what he'd called the mines. There were no markers showing the way here, just turn after turn of low ceilings and irregular rock walls. A wrong turn down here, and most people would probably never come out again.

 

But soon enough, Glen felt the incline in the floor change, becoming a steady upward slope. He came out in the basement of an abandoned tannery. All the windows and exits on the main floor were bricked over; the only way out was up.

 

He came out on the roof, in an entirely unfamiliar part of the city.

 

He turned slowly, looking for a familiar landmark, or at the very least his target.

Well, Harwold was right. It was a  _ very _ ugly building. Almost reminded him of Lindoir, back on Maeyis.

A universe and a galaxy away. Still... processing that.

_ [Focus.] _

The Civic Guard Headquarters was a massive pile of grey, overly ominous stone, sprawling across what looked like an entire city block, windowless and grim. It looked like someone had deliberately requested an architect known for a precise combination of suicidal depression and sadism. Honestly, if you wanted to film a show here involving the jackbooted thugs of a repressive regime, the audience would have rejected it out of hand as overdone. Couldn't they at least have made an effort?

Okay. Did he want to be at all discriminate? Not particularly. Collectively, these people were an immense threat. And removing them could only help matters.

He removed his coat, and snapped it out like a stage magician.

A ordnance launcher thumped to the ground, and he swung the coat back on before running his hands along the length of the heavy weapon. He hadn't had a chance to fire one of these in  _ years. _ But restocking had  **[advantages.]**

He grinned beneath his mask as he knelt in the customary position, hefting the launcher onto his shoulder. He pulled the most dangerous of the warheads-- colored a bright blue-white-- from under his coat, and clicked it into place in the barrel. Turning the weapon on, a dotted line appeared over his sight, pointing out the impact point. He aimed up, until the line vanished into the center of the complex.

He pulled the trigger, the launcher kicked, and the exquisitely dangerous payload of a few barely-contained molecules of antimatter was sent on its way.

**[Boom.]**

_ [Indeed.] _

He didn't look at the impact site. He wasn't in any hurry to be blinded. But the flash was visible even behind closed lids and the compensation the mask’s lenses provided, and the sudden, sharp heat couldn't be missed. The tremor that hit his own position, shaking dust from the roof, wouldn't go far, though. Not enough to be noticed like the flash of light.

He opened his eyes, and looked at the growing cloud of debris and dust, hurled upward. 

**[Mission accomplished. Target eliminated.]**

He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in, and started along the rooftops. He’d kept his sense of direction fairly well, and the compass on his HUD had done even better, so finding his way back to Garth’s would be trivial…


	29. Of Men and Monsters and Gods

Ren bit her lip, working hard to keep her expression under control. Neither Garth nor Magda was taking Glen's story very well, and Ren letting on that she was shocked too wouldn't help matters.

 

She'd had no idea Glen was carrying that kind of weaponry around with him. To think he’d been walking around with explosive power like that  _ in his coat _ ...

 

Garth's jaw worked so hard it look like he was chewing rubber. At last he found his voice. "You... did  _ what _ ?" 

 

“Destroyed the Civic Guard Headquarters, and everyone inside,” Glen said simply. “Antimatter is a  _ hell _ of an explosive.” 

 

"Anti- what?" Magda shook her head. "Glen. If you're using magic... If you've made some kind of deal with... with..." There was a warning tone in her voice, but she still sounded more like she was pleading for an alternate explanation.  _ Any _ alternate explanation.

 

Ren shook her head. "Oh. No. No magic. This is just... This kind of thing… It’s..." She looked at Glen, shrugging. "At this point I think we have to just tell them."

 

In retrospect, Ren realized this was probably inevitable.

 

Well, Doreah and Charlus had taken it pretty well. Of course, they were a different kind of people. But one could hope.

 

Glen sighed. “It's a long story, but the shortest and simplest way to start it is to say I'm from another universe. And so are the rest of my people. From a place where we only found magic very recently.” He looked at them. “Magic...once it arrives in most civilizations, especially the early ones, those places stagnate. No new developments, because why bother building a device to do something a spell can do at a fraction of the cost? That didn't happen for us, and so we built. Great things. Terrible things. And, in the case of our enemies, a weapon that scattered our fleets across universes.”

 

"You're from another universe," Garth repeated, incredulous.   
  
But Magda was nodding. She looked oddly relieved. "It would explain so many things..."

 

“I arrived about three months ago. Ren brought me to stop a tyrant, as you probably know already. What I didn’t mention is that, a few weeks later, a couple of our battle fleets appeared in orbit. Twenty thousand Shikanen and half again that many humans, and all of them fresh off the battlefield. I’m honestly amazed there aren’t new craters on Domhan, but it seems this world was lucky enough to get an area of the battle that was relatively free of falling debris.” He shrugged. “The rest of what we told you is true enough. We  _ are _ ambassadors, and we  _ did _ crash here.”

 

"But..." Garth was frowning, clearly having difficulty taking all this in.

 

Magda looked like her thoughts were very far away. "Did you--" She stopped, and shook her head as if shaking away an idea. "And all of this... it's not magic. You." She stopped again, blinking in sudden realization. "You leveled a city block.  _ Without _ magic." She had already gone a little pale while Glen was telling his story; what color had managed to return since then drained away again. "I'm not sure if that's better or worse..."

 

Glen shrugged. “You should see our warships.”

 

"Warships?" said Garth. He put one hand flat on the table and leaned forward, staring hard at Glen. "Alright. Now look. You go off and leave me thinking you're dead or on your way to it, and next thing I know you're back, and you've single handedly  _ destroyed _ a massive building and killed  _ hundreds _ of people. Now you're talking about warships and battles and whatever else... I want to know this: what else have you got that you're keeping up your sleeve, to pull out and unleash as you see fit? A mess like tonight... is this going to happen again?"

 

Glen looked around the room, then shrugged. “Only have one more warhead that’s that destructive. Also have thirty-six others of varying potency, and enough small arms, ammunition, and explosives to let a thirty-man platoon wage a campaign for a year. I could show you directly, but I think we’d need a larger room to fit it all comfortably.”

 

"Where is it all  _ now _ ?" asked Magda, alarmed.

 

Ren leaned an elbow on the table and put her head in her hand. How to explain about the coat...?

 

“You know what you’re doing, you can mess about with space and time,” Glen said. He indicated his coat. “Short version, it’s much bigger underneath, with whatever weapons I need ready when I reach for them.” He smiled. “Not everyone gets one, but I used to be an Operative. Assassins and elite soldiers.” He shrugged, then leaned forward in his own chair, elbows on knees. “My vest blocks magic and most forms of detection mundane and arcane, as well as shrapnel and light plasma fire. Also standard issue.”

 

They both stared at Glen, Garth in perplexity and Magda with an 'I just shouldn't ask' expression on her face.

 

Glen grinned. “My species hit the end of the technology curve, then used that technology to build  _ more _ curve. Get enough of our engineers and scientists together, tell them to do something impossible, and they’ll break reality to make it happen. Hell, our warships are powered mostly by a substance that explodes when it touches  _ anything _ . That's antimatter, by the way.”

 

_ What. _

 

Ren joined the Doorkeepers in their incredulous stares.

 

“We're not _ idiots _ . It's very well contained. Otherwise...well...the warheads I just used have a small reactor, about a centimeter across when you strip out everything else. Starship reactors are dozens of meters across at least.” He shrugged. “Aaand I'm just digging myself deeper, aren't I? Sorry. We're not all explosives and terrifying capabilities.” He took off his hat, and ran a hand through his hair and down his braid. “Most conversations I had or observed before meeting Ren….survival or military concerns. Still adjusting to  _ normality,  _ and sometimes it makes things difficult.”

 

With a smile, Ren put a hand on Glen's shoulder. "You'll... get the hang of it," she said, trying to sound encouraging.

 

While in the back of her mind, a small voice was still fretting over the amount of explosive material in Glen's  _ pockets _ \-- not to mention her new and not entirely welcome understanding of the fleet -- Ren tried to collect herself and bring the conversation back into less alarming territory.

 

"Honestly, though," Ren said, "it isn't all danger and massive overkill. Technology is amazing in good ways, too. Medicine. Communication. Travel. Day-to-day things, like lights without oil or candles, cooking without firewood, clean water with no hauling buckets from a well and hot water you don't have to heat by the potful. Or... or just something as small and simple as writing. Imagine a pen you don't have to dip; the ink is inside, and you could write whole books before it ran out." 

 

She shook her head. She knew she wasn't explaining it very well. "You don't use magic here, but we did where I'm from, and I can tell you that technology makes things easier in ways even magic can't. And you don't have to have any special talent or ability to use it, either."

 

Glen nodded, but didn't say anything, seemingly lost in thought. He leaned back in his chair again, watching quietly for a long moment.

 

Then he chuckled.

 

"All this is amusing  _ why _ ?" said Magda, wary.

 

“Because we've given this speech before. And like as not end up doing the same again, once the barrier falls. Finyar is larger than most of the other isles combined. That's land we all need.”

 

Both Doorkeepers stiffened. "When the barrier falls?" said Magda, aghast. "You can't do that!"

 

"Considering what they've just told us, it sounds like they can," Garth pointed out. "Although if that's really the intention, I'm wondering why it hasn't happened yet."

 

"No," said Magda. "I mean, yes, but that wasn't what I meant. I meant... you shouldn't. You  _ mustn't _ . It... that would be disastrous!"

 

"I know you've been taught that everything outside the barrier is chaos because magic runs rampant," said Ren. "But it isn't like that. It--"

 

Magda cut her off. "So you've both said. But even if that's true, magic on this side  _ is _ corrupt. It’s  _ dangerous _ . And people know that, and are afraid of it, rightly so. If the barrier came down... I don't know who would be in for a worse shock, Finyar or the people beyond. But I know it wouldn't end well, either way."

 

Ren stared. Magda was right. What if Finyar's corrupted magic was strong enough to contaminate  _ all _ magic? And what would the people themselves do, when those who used magic and those who feared and hated it met each other?

 

She glanced at Cassiel; she worried constantly about someone realizing he had the Sense or, even worse, the Sparks. They couldn't trust people here to accept even one person with magic, no matter how benign. How could they expect anything but catastrophe if the people of Finyar came face-to-face with the outside world? 

 

Glen looked back at her, and she saw the same worry in his eyes. “Not my choice to make. It's in the way, it'll be coming down. And the Brethren with it, like as not.”

 

He paused. “I just realized. We've never asked what the hell the Brethren  _ are _ . Stupid. I had people who saw them rise to power in front of me, and never asked…”

 

"You had what?" said Garth.

 

Magda blinked. "Oh. You met... yes. Well." She cleared her throat. "Anyway. The Brethren. The first Brothers were Parsifal, Anayol, and Tredanus. They were brothers by blood, and they were also the princes of the then-kingdom of Finyar. Prince Parsifal, the eldest, had been trying for years to convince his father that magic posed a growing threat to the kingdom, and that something had to be done about it. The king would never listen."

 

"But Parsifal was right. In those days, the gods ran rampant, bending the world to their whims, playing with mortal lives like people were toys, throwing magic around without regard to its effects on innocent bystanders. People who worshiped them were sometimes favored, but not always, and even a supposedly-benevolent god could wreak havoc on a person’s life without warning. And an angry one?" Magda shook her head. "There was no stopping them."

 

Glen smiled thinly at that, but didn’t say anything. 

 

"What gods  _ were _ these?" asked Ren. "Those books you gave me for the kids, they said the same, but the gods were never named." Ren had wondered about that. The gods in the south had mostly gone quiet, but even before that, the stories about them were cautionary at worst, and mostly positive. She couldn't imagine an entire pantheon being so malicious. 

 

"They weren't named because speaking their names was forbidden." Magda put up a hand, holding off further questions. "I'll get to that, let me finish."

 

Ren nodded.

 

"It wasn't just the gods that were a problem. There were all manner of sorcerers running around as well. They, too, wielded magic without care, heedless of the cost to themselves and everyone around them. Magic could take hold of anybody, and once it did... Even now, once magic gets a foothold, you can never be entirely rid of it. It was far worse back then."

 

"Parsifal dedicated himself to the study of magic. Not so that he could use it. Rather, so that he could find ways to control it and, ultimately, destroy it. He planned and prepared, rallied his brothers to his cause, and then he waited."

 

"When the old king died, and Parsifal took the throne, he was finally able to act. He banned the use of magic of any kind, by anyone. He had every temple and holy site in the kingdom sealed, and ordered as many destroyed as possible. He prohibited anyone to worship, or even speak of, any deity or power."

 

"People fought these changes. Priests and priestesses refused to abandon their gods. Sorcerers wouldn't, or in some cases  _ couldn't _ , cease to use their powers. Laws and decrees were not enough; Parsifal had to do something more. So he began the Enlightening."

 

"Pretty name for it," muttered Ren, recognizing the term from  _ An End to Kingdoms _ .

 

Magda nodded. "The histories paint it in very broad and often glossy terms, yes. And a lot of people accept that romanticised version at face value. I don't, and I won't argue that it wasn't a dark time in our history. I've seen things, in our own time, that..." She trailed of, going quiet for a minute. "I can only imagine what the Enlightening must have really been like. People fought. People died. Men, women, even children."

 

"No one calls it such, but it became a war. Gods against mortals, gods against gods; whole communities, and even families, torn apart by allegiance to the gods or rejection of them, by the use of magic or the condemnation of it. The crown itself was very nearly overthrown in the chaos."

 

"But then Parsifal and his brothers did something no one could have imagined. They killed a god. After that, everything changed."

 

"Parsifal abdicated his throne, and both of his brothers refused it as well. Instead, they dropped their titles as princes, renounced their royal blood, and began calling themselves the Brethren. They initiated others in this new order, and called them Brother as well. Their numbers grew. More gods fell. The tide turned, the Brothers took, and held, control throughout Finyar. They broke the gods, destroyed the sorcerers, and beat back the forces of magic, until peace was finally established."

 

Ren frowned. "Peace? Is that what you call what this place has now?"

 

"Yes," said Garth, interjecting. "What would you call it?"

 

“Stagnation,” Glen said shortly. “They’re immortal. They wield powerful magic. They oppress and kill as they will, and the only defense is to not be found.” He shook his head. “What’s the difference between them and the gods you hated, then? What, in the end, has changed?”

 

“Like we keep saying, nothing at all,” Doreah said, coming out of the back room, Charlus-- and, to Ren’s surprise, Freki-- in tow. “Like we  _ kept _ saying, though your predecessors started refusing to listen to ‘the ravings of the elderly’.”

 

Freki barked, and padded over to Cassiel, sitting in front of his chair and watching Magda intently.  Cassiel patted his head and nodded to him.

 

Doreah shook her head. “She's right enough about Parsifal and his lot running things, but truth is, things weren't nearly as bad as she makes it out to be. For one, gods weren't nearly as badly behaved as she says.”

 

Ren decided to throw another potentially dangerous detail on the table. "I’d believe that," she said. "We met a god here ourselves. His name was Joakim. He was nothing but kind and generous to us. The Brothers had broken him, alright, but he wasn’t corrupted or dangerous. And he certainly wasn’t some heartless terror."

 

Freki barked again, wagging his tail.

 

Glen nodded, then looked at Garth. “Magda’s told you of my… problem?”

 

Garth nodded stiffly.

 

“Joakim did his best to fix it, when Kuro was put in charge. Didn't work, but he made the effort. And he asked for nothing in return.”

 

“He made cinnamon rolls,” Cassiel said. 

 

“Joakim...the Path-Guard? You met him?” Doreah asked, eyes widening slightly. “Is he...alright?”

 

Ren nodded. "He's got a broken horn, and his memory was a little... spotty, at times. But he seemed alright otherwise." She tipped her head. "You know him?"

 

She shook her head. “Not personally, no…” She smiled, and so did Charlus, who laid a gnarled hand on her shoulder. “..but it's nice to know  _ something _ survived the Brethren’s purges.” She took a seat, and nodded to Glen. “I’ve been waiting two centuries to find someone with enough of a brain to listen when I'm talking, and you’re it.”

 

“How did you even-” Garth said. “How did you _ get here? _ How did you even know we were talking about the Brethren?”

 

Doreah nodded to Freki. “The furry fellow here was rather insistent. I suppose we just happened along at the right moment.”

 

Freki barked.

 

"Freki is very on top of things," said Ren, as it that explained everything.

 

Magda nodded, a bit absently. "That's the animal you've been keeping in your rooms?"

 

"He's a dog," Cassiel volunteered.

 

"And yes," said Ren. "Incidentally, he's Joakim's dog."

 

"Ah. How nice." Magda stared at Freki. And stared. And went on staring.

 

It was well past awkward, when Garth broke in again. "I'm sorry. What?" Ren opened her mouth and he waved her off. "Not that. You.  _ All  _ of you. What is wrong with you lot? I’m not-- I don't-- What's going  _ on _ around here?"

 

“Change,” Glen said with a shrug. “We're different from normal people. And we're having a discussion about gods.”

 

Garth stared at Glen as if his hair had turned blue.

 

_ “Why?! _ ” he finally managed, in a strangled voice.

 

Ren looked at him. After a moment, she said, "Because hundreds of people are dead, the city is in an uproar, acid-blood monsters are roaming the streets, and things are only going to escalate. Glen is right. One way or another, the barrier won't last. The Brothers won't last. This place might not have changed in hundreds of years, but it's going to change now. So... I mean..." She shrugged. "We should probably talk about it?"

 

“There are  _ blackbloods _ on the streets?” Magda asked sharply. “Do I even- no, of course I don't. Right. You.” She pointed at Glen. “Don't care how you're carrying that many weapons, but  _ stop blowing up the city with them. _ ”

 

Glen considered for a moment, then nodded.

 

Garth's jaw worked again. Then he shook his head, and looked at Glen. “No offense, but I don't think I want you showing up for work tomorrow. Or ever.”

 

Glen nodded stoically.

 

"Garth!" said Magda, surprised.

 

"No. This is too much. This is too  _ dangerous _ ." Garth looked at Glen, then back to Magda. "And I don't think you should let them stay, either."

 

Ren looked quickly to Magda. Would she throw them out? What would they do if she did?

 

But Magda waved an impatient hand. "I shouldn't have let them in to begin with," she said. Ren frowned, feeling a bit hurt by that, even though she knew it wasn't unreasonable. Magda went on. "But now it's done and can't be  _ un _ done. Would you hand them, and everything they know, to the Brothers? Because that's what turning them out would do."

 

"Would it?" Garth argued. "Seems they're pretty well able to take care of themselves, doesn't it? They can just  _ blow up _ anyone who threatens them. Or run back to their  _ god _ ." He practically growled the last word.

 

"And what do you think  _ that _ would lead to?" said Magda, eyes narrowed.

 

Garth's scowl deepened.

 

“I doubt Joakim is capable of harming anyone,” Glen said with a smile. “And he isn't my god.” His smile twisted. “If you want me gone, I understand. Just don't do the same to Ren and Cassiel.”

 

"You'll stay," said Magda, "unless it’s your own wish to go. And I'd council you not to, even then."

 

"This is a mistake," Garth warned.

 

"Maybe. But it's my decision and I'm making it," said Magda.

 

Garth stared holes in the table for a long moment. Then he stood up. "Get out of my inn. All of you." He looked hard at Magda as he said it.

 

Glen nodded, and stood, heading towards the back.

 

“We'll talk later," Magda said to Garth. Garth gave no answer. Magda sighed, and followed Ren and the others after Glen, back down into the Below.

 

###

 

Nemesis observed quietly through the cameras, as she always did, as the Shikanen entered the Lord General’s office. This one was a relatively low-ranking officer, and obviously uncomfortable.

Oh, and a female too. That was a rarity. Shikanen females were only about a fourth of the population, and even fewer than that went into the military. Not that the lack of mates would halt the predicted population boom she'd extrapolated for the next three decades. They bred like rodents.

She called up the officer’s personnel file as the rest of her dealt with the more mundane tasks of handling  _ Avenger _ and it's numerous systems.

Hmmm...interesting. A Runic, obviously, from the black armor and sheathed antiquated blade on her back, but one with a fairly long service record,  _ and _ a history of being called in as backup on Operative Carviss’s missions, much like Senior Arial Fawkes. She dedicated subroutines to observing and analyzing the conversation.

 

Pleasantries were exchanged, and after an order the Runic sat, in the upsized chair that Cidet kept for the larger species. She sat rigidly, as if still at attention.

Cidet asked her about her knowledge of the situation on the continent that Nemesis had confirmed lay behind the mysterious barrier. The Runic answered in a wary affirmative.

Cidet handed her a tablet. She knew exactly what was on it: troop requests, and a rescue mission.

The Runic scanned it, and grinned. Then she frowned, inquiring about breaching the barrier.

Cidet raised his voice.

The door opened, and Cidet's secretary enter--

 

=++_’#:--

 

QUERY: MEANING OF LIFE

ANSWER: FORTY-TWO

 

#$&+((--

 

Nemesis gave the equivalent of a head-shake. What had she been focused on? Wasn't important. She turned back to managing the fleet.

 

###


	30. More monsters in the dark

"It'll be so fun!" said Catharin.

 

"Well, what's down there?" asked Herm.

 

Catharin shrugged. "I dunno. More tunnels? Finding out is the fun part!"

 

Herm looked dubious, but Cassiel nodded. After all, he'd found an interesting thing or two, exploring Greenstone's old mines. "I'll come," he said.

 

"Yay!" Catharin bounced in place, and Illa grinned.

 

"Oh, alright, fine," said Herm with a sigh. "I'll come, too."

 

Catharin led the way, lantern in hand, and the lit halls of the Doorkeepers' territory very quickly vanished into blackness behind them.

 

Cassiel had been reluctant to go with his friends at first. Glen and Ren were both so tense and worried the last few days -- sitting around talking with Doreah and Charlus, or with Magda, and sometimes other adults, too, everybody fraying each other's nerves with news of what was going on up in the city, none of which was good. They'd needed him to distract them once in awhile, cheer them up.

 

But when Catharin came rapping at the door, asking Cassiel to come play because she had 'a great new game!' for them all, Glen had pretty much insisted that Cassiel go and play.

 

Probably he wouldn't have, if he'd known quite what it was Catharin had in mind. Cassiel knew that. But really, they were just messing around. It wasn't as if they were going somewhere blocked off, or toward the city center. He knew better than  _ that _ . This was just some harmless exploring.

 

It would be fun.

 

Catharin chattered just about non-stop as they made their way down into the old mines. Mostly 'facts' about the mines' history. Illa argued with her, insisting that most of it wasn't true. Arguing like that was a favored pastime of theirs, and after a while Cassiel mostly tuned it out, content to wander along beside Herm, the two of them gazing around at the rough-cut walls and the graffiti other 'explorers' had left on them. Once in awhile, Herm would stop and scratch an arrow on the wall, pointing back the way they'd come, much to Cassiel's approval. Herm was smart about stuff like that.

 

Eventually, they came to a larger chamber, one big enough the lantern didn’t light up the walls and ceiling, even when Catharin held it up as high as she could.

 

"Wow!" said Catharin. "I bet this was a secret tomb once!"

 

"Nah," said Illa. "It was probably just a natural cavern the miners ran into."

 

Another argument began. Cassiel smiled at Herm and shook his head. Herm scratched a big X beside the tunnel they'd come out of. Just in time, too, because Catharin kept walking, and the darkness soon swallowed up all hint of the tunnel. Herm scurried back into the circle of light, looking a bit wide eyed.

 

Cassiel felt a little nervous himself. He wished Catharin would have followed the wall or something. He didn't like standing in their little circle of light, with nothing but blackness on every side. It gave him the creeps.

 

"What was that?" asked Illa.

 

"What was what?" said Catharin, stopping.

 

Then Cassiel heard something, too. A light tap of something hard against stone. A moment later, a soft scraping. He thought he heard breathing, somewhere ahead of him in the darkness.

 

The Sparks shifted inside Cassiel, suddenly restless. Cassiel thought of the monster in the alley, the blackblood, and went stiff. Oh no. No, no, no, no. This was  _ bad _ .

 

“Who’s there?” Illa asked tentatively.

 

"I am Taa of the Ni'Ko clan Uur'en'Vaa," said a hollow-sounding voice, dry and splintery as old firewood. It came from just off to Cassiel's left. "Who are  _ you _ , surface child?"

 

Illa’s eyes widened, and he backed up quickly. 

 

Cassiel quietly put his hand on the hilt of his kukri.

 

The raspy voice gave a long, juddering hiss. Cassiel realized it was laughing. "Draw no weapon, boy-child. You could not use it anyway. You will only get yourself into trouble." A rustle, and the owner of the voice stepped forward.

 

It was very tall, and very thin, with long, thin hands and claw-tipped fingers. The face was blunt and scaly, vaguely reptilian, with perfectly round, wide-set eyes. As the light reached those eyes, Cassiel caught the moment when its huge pupils contracted into slits so narrow they barely showed against it's pale green irises. The creature hissed softly.

 

The lantern went out as if someone had poured a bucket of water on it, the creature’s eyes glowing in the dark for the briefest moment.

 

Catharin screamed, and Cassiel heard more claw-scrape footsteps behind him. He reached for the not-seen -- he could grab the echo of light before it faded; he'd explain later, right now they needed to _ see _ \-- but before he could do anything, the Sparks roiled up inside him. They spilled out through his hands and whirring madly through the air around him, hundreds of them.

 

By their blue-white glow, he could see Taa again, and the second Ni'Ko that had crept up from the other side. And the third, and fourth, that had apparently been lingering deeper in the shadows. Even as he looked, a fifth stepped straight out of the solid stone wall as if the rock wasn't even there. All of them stared at the Sparks with expressions that, even on their lizard-y faces, were clearly astonishment.

 

They weren't the only ones. Cassiel could see his friends' faces as well. All three of them were staring, not at the creepy lizard people, but at  _ him _ .

 

Aw, shoot.

 

But no time to worry about it now. He pulled his kukri from its sheath, and took a step toward Taa, who was still closest.

 

"We're leaving," he declared. "And you're not stopping us."

 

“Cool…” Catharin said softly, before Illa shushed her. Herm looked around him with wary eyes, hand on the hilt of his own small dagger.

 

Taa hissed softly, and grabbed Cassiel's arm.  "Yes," said Taa. "You're leaving with us."

 

Rather than try to pull away, Cassiel threw his weight  _ into _ Taa, and at the same time brought his kukri up to slash at the Ni'Ko's wrist. Taa's scaly grip was cold and hard as stone; it made no attempt to evade the knife, seeming to expect the blade bounce off.

 

It didn't.

 

Taa reeled back with a scream, clutching the stump of his wrist as bright yellow blood pumped out.

 

A many-layered hiss filled the air, as Taa's fellows reacted to the injury with shock and anger. Cassiel left Taa hunched over his severed stump and darted back to his friends, Sparks still whirling around him.

 

Catharin and Illa clutched each other, silent and wide-eyed, but Herm had his knife out, watching their backs.

 

"Come on," said Cassiel, waving them back toward the tunnel with the X beside it, which the Sparks had helpfully illuminated. But even as he said it, one of the Ni'Ko melted into the wall and, seconds later, popped out again right in the mouth of the tunnel, blocking their path.

 

"Stop," it rasped. "We cannot let you leave. The lights... we need them!"

 

Cassiel gave the creature his best, 'are you kidding me?' look. "Well you can't have them."

 

“You have no choice in this,” the creature said, as more Ni’Ko appeared, surrounding them. Two of them advanced on Illa and Catharin.

 

_ No! _ thought Cassiel, and felt the Sparks rally in response. "Hey! Back off!" he yelled. The two Ni'Ko looked up, just as a tight cluster of Sparks shot toward the one on the left. It flinched out of the way, sinking halfway into the floor to evade them. They whirled and flew at the second Ni'Ko, but that one held its ground. The Sparks shot right through it. They crackled as they passed through, and the Ni'Ko jumped and stumbled back, twitching. 

 

But Cassiel shuddered, too, as a wave of dizzy nausea swept through him, leaving him feeling faint. The Sparks dimmed and some of them started to flicker weakly.

 

When had the floor gotten so close?

 

Catharin screamed, but it sounded distant...

 

Cassiel saw Herm thrust his dagger at a Ni'Ko that was headed toward them, but the creature caught Herm's wrist and plucked the knife out of his hand with ease. It was the last visible thing, before the Sparks retreated under Cassiel's skin, plunging them all into darkness again.

 

He felt a cold, scaly hand on his head. His vision went blue… then nothing.

  
###


	31. We endeavor to make Glen worried

Glen watched from his chair as Ren drew back her next arrow. He was rather happy he’d found a room large enough for her to practice in. He was also happy he’d thought to include archery butts in his inventory. 

On another note, he was drastically reconsidering his decision  _ not _ to pack gold. The stuff might have been near-worthless to him and his people, but it was rare as hell on Finyar, not to mention to rest of Domhan, and it would’ve been much easier just to bribe his way out of Harwold’s annoyance. 

**[Less fun though]**

Eh. At least he could appreciate the little things now. Ren’s own job teaching paid their dues, and it wasn’t like they’d be heading anywhere above, not with things the way they were. At least people hadn’t reacted poorly to his true origins being revealed. 

He smiled slightly as the arrow thudded into the center of the target.

 

Ren glanced over and quirked an eyebrow at him. But just as she started to say something, one of Magda’s messengers walked in.

 

Hell. What was it now? He looked over at the boy. “What?”

 

"Uh. Magda. Wants to see. You. Two." The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Um."

 

He sighed, and stood, nodding to Ren as he headed out of the room. It didn’t take long for them to reach Magda’s office. He knocked.

 

"Come in," Magda called.

 

They found her, as usual, seated behind her heavy desk. But she wasn't alone. Illa and Catharin's parents were there, Aedie in one of the chairs, looking teary and pale, while her husband Trihkor paced behind her. A middle-aged woman in a plain grey dress sat in the next chair, calmer than the other two but still seeming downcast.

 

**[This does not seem good.]**

 

He nodded almost invisibly at Id’s assessment, a jolt of fear running through him as he sat down.  Ran sat too, barely settling on the edge of her chair. "What's happened?" she asked, looking from Magda to the others and back again.

 

Magda took a deep breath. "Illa and Catharin didn't come home when they should have. Sairanna informs me that Herm also hasn't checked in. Seeing as they like to play together, we're all hoping that the other three are with Cassiel, and that you know where."

 

**[Oh-**

_ [-shit.] _

His hands clenched on the arms of the chair. “They came by to play with Cassiel, and they all went elsewhere. I haven't seen them,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Where do you think they are?”

 

Aedie started to cry. Trihkor put a hand on her shoulder. "Catharin has been interested in stories about the mines recently,” he said. “Things she's heard from other kids, the usual scare tales."

 

"But she knows better than to  _ go _ there!" said Aedie, almost pleading. “They both do!”

 

Trihkor looked grim. "So we thought."

 

Glen tried to let go, to fall back into himself and blessed unconsciousness, but something stopped him. Kuro.

_ [You will not. Stand on your own, your son needs you.] _

**[Do not surrender]**

He swallowed, but spoke, forcing back the urge to abandon control. “I’m going after them. Which way to the mines?”   
  
"Two places they could have gotten down there," said Magda, pulling a rolled paper from a drawer of her desk. Unrolled, it turned out to be a map. "Here, or here." She pointed them out two places where the tangle of passages trailed off the edge of the map.   
  
"That one," said Ren, leaning in. "It's closer to the school. They'd be more likely to know where to find it." She was already on her feet.   
  
"I'm coming, too," said Trihkor. He looked at them with one brown eye and one solid black, sclera and all. The mismatched stare lent itself oddly well to his determined expression.

 

Glen gave him a look, then found himself nodding as he stood. He pulled out a stun baton, and handed it grip-first to the man. “Push the red button to turn it on, then swing. It'll knock out just about anyone.” Two pairs of night vision goggles followed, one of which he tossed to Ren, the other to Trihkor. He looked back at Aedie. “We'll get them back,” he said quietly. “That I swear.”

 

She nodded, eyes pleading.

 

"There's something more you should know," said Magda, before they could leave. "There are... things... in those tunnels that have defied all attempts to eradicate or control them. They call themselves the Ni'Ko. They're godbeasts, run wild. They don't come into our regions, but down there..." She shook her head. "They've been known to... take people. Sometimes they give them back, sometimes not. They're very strong, and they can move through solid earth, even stone, and do it faster than they can move in open air. They can see in total darkness, and they hate light, especially bright light. But most important... if they touch you, they can touch your mind. Read your memories, alter them, even take them entirely. If you meet any,  _ don't _ let them touch you."

 

"You think they... took..." Ren had gone pale, eyes and mouth tight.

 

"I hope not," said Magda. "It could be that the kids got themselves lost, and simply haven't been able to find their way back out. The Ni'Ko don't usually take children. But... it's a possibility, and even if they didn't, you might still encounter them while you're down there. Go carefully."

 

Glen nodded as he headed through the door.

Strong? Fast? Night vision? Immaterial. He was getting his son back.

 

The entrance down into the mines wasn't that far. Not at the speed he was moving, even slowed to allow the other two to keep up. Before he knew it, they had left the bright safety of the main tunnels behind in favor of the mines. Low-ceilinged, excavated by pick-axe by the looks of it, cold and stale and full of shadowed cracks and crevices even with the aid of the mask’s lenses. It was clear enough that people did, or had, come down here before. The walls were scored with old graffiti, carved, painted, or stained into the stone over the years. Arrows, names, dates, occasional 'artwork' running the gamut from crude to philosophical. Beyond a certain point, though, these markings petered out.

 

But one set of marks didn't. Simple scratches, fresh-looking, forming little arrows pointing back toward the Doorkeepers' halls. Would be about chest height from the perspective of a group of eight- and nine-year-olds.  _ Thos _ e marks led onward, deeper into the mines.

 

He slowed just long enough for the others to catch up, then reached for a familiar weapon. The flechette gun fell into his arms like an old friend, the soft whine of it activating almost inaudible. “Stay close,” he said, following the scratch marks. “No telling what’s in these tunnels.”

 

He got no argument from either Ren or Trihkor.

 

After a handful of turns -- all clearly marked, which didn't bode well for the 'they got lost' theory -- they came out into a large, open space with several tunnels leading off of it. Only the one they'd come in by was marked, but the room was empty. Had they stopped marking--

 

Then he saw the lantern, laying on its side in the middle of the chamber, quietly leaking oil.

 

_ [No…] _

**[No!]**

“Damn it,” he said softly. There was more than the lantern on this ground. Blood- yellow, but blood was blood no matter the color- had been spilled near the lantern. Whatever had happened, the kids had made the bastards bleed. They’d--

Why was he on his knees? He didn’t--

Calm. Breathe. 

**[No no no no no no…]**

 

He felt hands on his shoulders, and realized Ren had gotten around in front of him. "--do whatever we have to," she was saying. He could feel her hands tremble, could hear it in her voice, too, much as she tried to mask it. Fear. "We'll find him. We will."

 

"No," said a rustling, hissing voice. “You won’t.”

 

A target. He was on his feet in an instant, sights of the gun centered on the creature.

 

The monster melted backward into the wall it had just stepped out of. It's voice came again a moment later, from behind him. "Not on your own, you won't."

 

It moved again, off to the left this time. Why wouldn’t it hold still and let him  _ shoot it _ . 

 

"I could help," it rasped.

 

“Why should we trust you?” he rasped back, voice low. “Your kind _ did this _ .”

 

"Yes," said the voice, moving again. "But they should not have." Another move. "There was no need to take all four. And the host-child..." Dammit, stop phasing! Wait, host-child? "I do not believe force is the appropriate measure,” the hissing voice went on. “Not if we wish to keep the gestalt-power intact."

 

“The Sparks,” he said flatly, not caring that Trihkor was there to hear. “They're…” He stopped, and forced down his anger, crystallizing it, making it a weapon. “ _ Where. Are. They.” _

 

"Our nest," said the Ni'Ko. "Which you can not reach without my help."

 

He swung towards the voice again. There the bastard was. Looked like an overgrown lizard, almost like the Hydralain shock troops the Emperor had used in the last war. He watched for a moment, then nodded. Didn't like it, but it was a necessity. “Fine. Then help.”

 

The creature bobbed its lizard head in a nod. "Come here." It took half a step back, sinking partway into the stone wall, and held out its hands. "Place your hands on mine."

 

It wanted to touch them. Precisely what Magda had warned them not to allow. Ren gave him a look, but then shrugged and stepped toward the thing.

 

He held up a hand to stop her, then took the creature’s. If it had any poor intentions...well, they’d be back to square one. He waited a moment, before waving Ren next to him. Trihkor hung back, obviously uncomfortable. “Why are you-”

 

“If he wants my memories, he can try to take them,” Glen said with a grin. “You coming or not?”

 

Trihkor reached out, hesitant but determined, and laid a hand on the Ni'Ko's scaly forearm.

 

The moment his hand made contact, the Ni'Ko stepped backward, into the stone, and dragged them with it. The earth swallowed them up.

 

It was pressure, a grave-cold heaviness pressing on him from every direction, pressing  _ through _ him. There was no air. He couldn't  _ move _ , could only be swept along under the Ni’Ko’s power. If the creature stopped, if it let go…  he  _ hated _ being helpless like this.

 

Then they were free, standing in blessed open air again. Ren shuddered violently and caught Glen’s wrist in a tight, trembling grip. Trihkor dropped to his knees, gasping.

 

The Ni'Ko backed away, up against and partly _ into _ the opposite wall, wary of them. It pointed to a narrow opening in the wall of the small chamber they'd landed in, and whispered, "Through there."

 

He held Ren close for a moment, waving the Ni’Ko away. “You alright?” he asked her quietly.

 

She nodded. "Not going on my list of top travel methods, that."

 

Trihkor struggled to his feet. "Let's go," he said, gesturing with the stun baton.

 

Glen nodded, and led the way through the passage. He could barely squeeze through- twice his shoulders brushed rock- but he forged on.

 

The next chamber was much larger, extended out into several branches. In the vast center space was a plateau, concave on the top, which cradled a stone statue of something that looked like a Ni'Ko crossed with a snake -- reminiscent, almost, of the wingless, serpentine style of dragon from some of the ancient myths -- carved to a massive scale. The head alone was taller than Glen.

 

Countless Ni'Ko were gathered there, most of them hanging back along the edges of the room. Claws clicking softly on stone as the creatures shuffled nervously, all of them focused on the dozen or so of their kin clustered at the base of the statue.

 

At that group's feet, four small figures, huddling blindly together in, for them, total darkness.

 

_ [They live.] _

He loaded a flechette canister into the weapon with an audible  _ click _ , the noise carrying through the room. “I’ll ask this once,” he said softly, footsteps echoing on the stone floor as he approached. “Give them back.”

 

"Glen!" Cassiel's voice. But it sounded wrong. Tired. Weak.

**[Protect!]**

 

Angry hissing filled the room, as the assembled creatures turned to Glen. It only increased as they spotted Ren and Trihkor behind and to either side, and a few started to move in his direction, but stopped as a rasp-edged rumble drowned everything else out. All of the Ni'Ko went silent then, heads turning slowly toward the center of the chamber.

 

The statue raised its head, and peered at them.

 

Well. That was new. He kept walking towards the kids.  The Ni'Ko surrounding them hissed softly as Glen approached. “So, big, tall, and ugly? What’ll it be? Handing over the kids, or a flechette enema? Because you’ve seriously  _ pissed me off. _ ”

 

"So demanding," the thing said. "That is no way to address a nestlord." It raised itself up, cobra-like, and flexed its clawed hands. "I am Vaa, oldest and wisest of the Ni'Ko. Who are you, to trespass here, and speak to me so?"

 

“Ain't no business of yorn, is it?” he said, allowing a trace of street slang into his voice, something he hadn't done in decades. He was almost in arm's reach now. “And I don't care _ what _ you are. I guarantee I’ve killed scarier.”

 

"Have you," Vaa rumbled, sounding unimpressed.

 

“Don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he shot back. “And you still haven’t answered my request. Are you going to let them go, or do things have to get messy?” He felt Ren and Trihkor at his back, staying close.

 

A frill of spines around Vaa's head stood up and rattled ominously. "How did this belligerent little mammal  _ get here _ ?" he demanded, glaring around at the other Ni'Ko. "How many unwelcome Takings am I going to have to deal with in one day?"

 

The Ni'Ko that had brought them to the nest stepped hesitantly forward. "I... I brought them, aam'Vaa. I... I thought that... Well, you did say you did not want the surface children, that Taa should not have been brought them here, and..." It shuffled its feet, claws scraping softly on the stone floor. "Well, these came looking for them, and I thought perhaps, we could simply... give the small ones back to them? And return them to the tunnels?"

 

Vaa's eyes closed, slowly, then opened again. Such a reptilian face was hard to read, but that looked an awful lot like exasperation.

 

“I like his plan,” Glen said bluntly. “Nobody has to die. Very good, yes?”

 

"No!" Another Ni'Ko pushed to the front of the group surrounding the kids. It had only one hand, the stump still fresh and oozing, though a tourniquet had been tied around its wrist. "We need the boy-child's Power; it could be the key to our freedom! When will an opportunity like this come again?"

 

Vaa growled. "It is not the key to our freedom, it is the key to our  _ destruction _ . The host-child's memory is clear; he is already hunted. The Brethren will come. They will take it, as they have done every other Power that comes within their grasp."

 

"But if we took it for ourselves first--"

 

"It would not be enough." Vaa's head spines rattled again. "I have already made my decision. You would all do well to cease arguing with me."

 

It turned its unblinking gaze on the kids. "Leave the host-child be. We will return him to the surface; it will go better for us with the Brethren, to make such a gesture. The rest... gather their memories. Then kill them." It shook its massive head. "It is a waste to harvest the young ones so early, but there is nothing else to be done."

 

Hundreds of Ni'Ko turned their attention to Glen and the others.

 

**[Protect through violence. Preparedness in Sixty-Four Directions.]**

_ [Kill them all.] _

The flechette gun burped a rapidly expanding cloud of supersonic needles as he spun and fired, tearing a cluster of Ni’Ko to yellow mist. He pumped the action, cooling the weapon, steam rising as air met red-hot metal, reloaded, and fired again.

 

Behind him, a crackle and thud as Trihkor put his baton to work. He heard Ren's voice, swearing as she discovered that her arrows couldn't penetrate the Ni'Ko's stony skin. 

 

Then an ear-splitting boom and a flare of light, as she tried out an incendiary arrow. It worked in more ways than one. The Ni'Ko weren't fireproof, nor, as Magda had promised, did they have much tolerance for light. Those not hit shied back almost as one, hissing and shielding their eyes from the flash of the explosion. Even Vaa growled and rattled his head spines, though he didn't turn away.

 

Glen fired again, emptying the gun and tearing another dozen of the creatures apart, then stowed the weapon. That was enough incentive for the creatures to surge forward, but a drawn pair of pistols began scoring shots to heads and centers of mass, scything them down.

 

One of the kids started screaming. Glen spun, and saw Catharin howling and clawing at a Ni'Ko that had snagged Illa. The boy was limp in the monster's arms. But then the Ni'Ko went limp, too, and dropped to the ground, revealing Cassiel, kukri up and slick with yellow blood, still half blind with only the faint glow of a handful of Ren's smouldering Ni'Ko corpses to see by. He looked rather shocked, although not as shocked as the dead Ni'Ko had probably been.

 

**[Protect!]**

He began drawing closer to them, pistols cracking and sending flares of green light across the cavern. More and more Ni’Ko fell, but they pressed on.

Then the pistols ran dry with a pair of audible  _ clicks _ .

 

A Ni'Ko reached for Cassiel, and would have sprouted a knife in its throat, if the blade hadn't ricocheted off and clattered to the floor. As it fell, Glen felt a scaly touch on the back of his neck.

 

His vision turned blue.

 

_ [Ha ha, no.] _

The mindscape fell into place, replacing the blue haze. A stone platform, barely more than eight meters across, hanging in the void. Countless crystalline shards filled the air around it.

Glen stood in the center, and after a moment, the Ni’Ko appeared.

 

The creature looked around in confusion. “What is this?”

 

“Where everyone who tries to mess with my memories goes,” Glen said, stepping towards it. Kuro and Id precipitated out of the air, growling, but he held up a hand, and they subsided. “All those shards?  _ Mine. _ ” The shards trembled. “What did you plan to do, exactly? Make me forget?” Slowly, they began to orbit the platform, gaining speed as Glen approached. “Forget my life? My son? Leave me an empty husk?” 

The shards were a storm of crystal now, nearly a solid wall at the platform. “You want my memories, lizard?” Glen asked. “ _ Take them.” _

 

The shards converged.

 

Glen blinked away blue light. Something had splattered on him, warm even through his clothing. He turned.

 

_ [So that's what the inside of a Ni’Ko's head looks like.] _

 

Vaa  _ roared _ . The cavern shook, dust and loose earth trickling from the ceiling. The nestlord reared, then dove off of its platform and straight into the ground, as if the stone were water. An instant later, it came up again right beside Glen, meter after meter of stony scales forming a ring around Glen and the others. A handful of Ni'Ko were caught in it as well, but they all vanished into the floor in a blink.

 

For a moment, Vaa was still, only tipping its head to fix Glen with one round eye. "What are you?" it said at last, the sound low and deep from this close, vibrating in Glen's chest.

 

“A very dangerous man,” he replied, grinning under his mask. Another gun fell into his waiting hands. “I wouldn't advise continuing this fight,” he said, aware of the silence beyond Vaa’s coil, the Ni’Ko apparently shocked into sloth. He pointed the gun, a cut-down assault rifle, at Vaa’s head. “Call them off, or we see what plasma does to your head.”

 

Vaa's mouth opened, showing a maw full of sharp teeth the size of knives. But it was just a display; a moment later, Vaa drew back, and nodded. "I did not want any of this," it said. "Would that I could have stopped my nestlings from bringing any of you here at all."

 

Glen lowered the rifle cautiously. “Glad you're seeing sense.”

 

“I did not live this long because I did not know when to exercise caution," said Vaa. "Much as I would prefer a tidier outcome, it seems the wiser course is to send you back after all. The children... that is just as well. Take them with you. The host-child especially; I have no wish that he be found here. But the other two..." it gave Ren and Trihkor interested looks. "Would you be willing to leave them?"

 

“ _ No,” _ he growled, resisting the urge to shoot the thing.

 

Vaa sighed. "Only a suggestion," it said, sounding wistful. Then it dove into the rock and came up again back in its nest. The Ni'Ko had all backed well away; it seemed quite a few had even fled. And there were the kids. Illa was sitting on the ground, looking woozy but otherwise unharmed, with Catharin clinging to him. Cassiel still had his kukri out, and Herm, beside him, had his little dagger drawn, too, though neither of them could see anything. "It would have been a welcome gesture," Vaa added, "considering you still require our assistance if you wish to leave this place. Unless you can travel through earth and stone unaided?"

 

“I  _ did _ pack quite a lot of explosives,” Glen said. 

 

Ren made a worried noise.

 

“But again. You want us gone, your best bet is to volunteer that aid.”

 

"I am not making demands," said Vaa, nodding again. "My nestlings will return you to the place you came from."

 

It nodded, and a handful of Ni'Ko moved forward, some towards Glen, Ren, and Trihkor, the others toward the kids. One of them was the one-handed Ni'Ko that hard argued for keeping Cassiel to begin with.

 

Glen got between it and Cassiel. “Not you,” he said shortly, before taking Cassiel's hand. “Link hands, kids.”  They did -- Cassiel squeezed Glen’s hand tight -- and Ren closed the line at the other end. Trihkor put a hand on Illa's shoulder and one on Catharin's, shoring up the middle of the group.

 

The one-handed Ni'Ko -- Taa, the others had called it -- hissed in disappointment. "I brought them here; it is only right I take them back."

 

Vaa laughed, a crackling, hollow sound. Then the nestlord lunged, catching Taa in its mouth with a snap of teeth and a wet crunch.

 

It swallowed Taa whole.

 

Glen raised an eyebrow. “That's one way to deal with idiots,” he said. “Now, the way back…?”

 

Vaa merely waved a clawed hand. Two Ni'Ko stepped forward, one of them the one who had brought Glen and the others down. That one took Glen's arm, and the other took Ren's. In the next instant, all of them dropped through the floor and went hurtling through solid rock again.

 

Then they were back in the chamber with the spilled lantern and the pool of Ni'Ko blood.

 

Catharin burst into tears, and the Ni’Ko promptly vanished.

 

Trihkor scooped her up, as Ren leaned down to check on Herm and Illa. Illa, surprisingly, seemed the least bothered of the two. But then he also seemed pretty out of it.

 

Cassiel hadn't let go of Glen's hand. He looked up at Glen -- well, off to one side, but close enough -- and asked, "Where are we?"

 

“Back in the mines, where they--” took him. He paused, fighting the urge to go silent. “They took you from here. The way back is easy.”

 

"We... we marked it," said Cassiel, a little sheepish. “When we… um. On the way down.” He fidgeted, and his tail drooped guiltily.

 

“You should have known better,” Glen said softly. “But given what's happened, I think you’ve been punished enough. I'm just glad you're safe.”  Cassiel sighed, and leaned into Glen's side. He looked exhausted.

 

Before Glen could ask why, Cassiel's head snapped up. "What's here?" he asked, urgently. "Is it the Ni'Ko? Are they still here?"

 

Movement, at the far end of the corridor. He got a suggestion of a canine body, broad and thickly muscled, before it leaped at them. His gun blasted it back with a spiteful  _ crack _ , the bolt of green lighting up the hall. A sulfurous hissing filled the air.

“Blackblood?” he asked, before nodding to Trihkor. “Get them back to Below. I’ll hold them off.”

 

Another one approached, more slowly this time. Trihkor hurriedly set Catharin on her feet and began ushering her, Illa, and Herm toward the X-marked tunnel. Ren caught Cassiel's hand and started after them, but a third blackblood appeared -- where had it even come from? -- blocking the way. It ignored Trihkor and the other three, though they were closer, instead focusing all of its attention on Ren and Cassiel.

 

Mostly Cassiel.

 

Glen fired twice, shredding the first blackblood, and the second vanished. Just as Magda had said they did, when Ren had told them about her encounter. An illusion. But one that fooled his mask.

 

Trihkor and the kids were already away, but Ren and Cassiel had veered out of the false blackblood's path, ending up at the mouth of another tunnel just as two more blackbloods came racing along it. Ren choose the wrong target: her arrow sailed harmlessly through and struck sparks off the wall behind.

 

The other one leapt. Ren's bow was torn from her hands, and she went down under the beast with a yelp. It didn't seem to care, though, twisting instead to snap at Cassiel.  Too close for a shot or a thrown blade, so Glen ran close, ducking a swipe of it’s paw, pressed the gun close, and pulled the trigger. The shot hurled it back, but it fell on Ren’s legs. Cassiel stumbled blindly backward, until he found the wall and put his back to it, kukri up.

 

He moved to shove the beast’s carcass off Ren, but  another pair of the beasts came at Glen from the side. Somewhere off in the tunnels, a deep baying began. More of the things, raising the alarm.

 

He spun, spraying shots. Two passed through the blackblood on the left, but a third connected, dropping the beast and vanishing its illusion. He used the breathing room to toss another set of goggles to Cassiel. “Put those on!”

He went back to shoving the blackblood. At least plasma cauterized the wounds it inflicted. If the acid had gotten Ren…

 

Movement! He spun, and felt the rifle raised in front of him cave in to an immensely strong slash, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet. Ren broke his fall, and he felt the breath explode out of her as Cassiel screamed.

 

He looked up, and saw a man in Brother's robes looming over the boy. Cassiel had slashed at him, opening a bloody gash across the Brother's chest, but the unfazed Brother had Cassiel by the wrists. Cassiel's scream became a wail of pain, as Glen heard bone snap, and Cassiel's kukri dropped to the floor.  **[No!]**

 

It all happened in seconds, and in the same moment two more Brothers descended on Glen and Ren.

 

**[Kill]**

He scrabbled to his feet, drawing knives, and he  _ moved. _ The first Brother fell with a knife in his eye, the second took the full force of his kukri in the neck. He turned, leaping for the one who held Cassiel, but the man dodged, dragging Cassiel with him, and took off down the corridor.

 

"Go!" Ren shouted, finally managing to free herself from under the blackblood.

 

The Brother was even faster than Jorge had been, a mere blur up ahead. He would have been too fast for even Glen to keep up, if he hadn't been struggling with Cassiel the whole way. As it was, Glen was barely able to keep them in sight and before long even that became impossible, forcing Glen to adjust the mask and follow their heat trails instead.

 

They raced through the mines, around breakneck twists and turns, and then into tunnels of a different kind, still unlit but clean-cut and leading noticeably upward. Without warning, the Brother shot up a tight stairway and burst out into a castle. 

 

No, a palace, and one so ridiculously opulent it looked like a parody.

 

The Brother didn't slow. If anything, he sped up. The trails started to fade.

 

He couldn’t lose him! He couldn’t...

**[We will not let him be taken. He is ours.]**

He rebounded off a corner, feeling new strength fill him, and soon the Brother was in view again.

He wouldn’t be able to do this, he realized incongruously, if Id hadn’t separated from him. He would have had to let Id run free instead. 

He was getting closer now, but not close enough to strike, not without risking Cassiel. He strained further, pulling nearer and nearer, running flat out down the corridors.  They rounded a corner--

 

\--straight into a knot of Brothers, easily a dozen of them. The one holding Cassiel sped through and vanished into a room behind the rest, while the waiting ambush fell on Glen.

 

They had seemed quick minutes before. Now, they were as slow as everyone else. A flame projector fell into his hands as he leapt free, and white-hot flame turned the ambush’s first rank into ashes. He slammed it into a Brother’s head before dropping it and redrawing his knives. Blood flew as he twisted and dodged between their blades and hands, cutting a path when none was present.

Moments that felt like an eternity later, the last of the Brothers fell to the ground, and he walked into the room.

 

Five Brothers knelt on the floor around an elaborate wooden inlay. Four of them had Cassiel pinned, spread-eagle over the heart of the design. He fought, but they held him with ease. The Sparks were out, faint and flickering, slow-moving, but roiling around the boy nonetheless.

 

The fifth Brother had his hands out, fingers spread, hovering over Cassiel's struggling form. Just as Glen arrived, the Brother's chanting stopped, and Cassiel and the Sparks vanished, swallowed up by empty air.

**[N** _ o!] _

 

The Brother looked up.

 

He was young, barely even a teenager, though his youthful face held no trace of innocence, only cruelty. He wasn't handsome; 'pretty' would be a better fit, with his full lips and blonde curls. His green eyes were striking; they were the same eyes that Glen had met in Jorge.

 

The same eyes that now watched him from the faces of the other four Brothers.

 

The young Brother saw the realization on Glen's face, and smirked, tapping the Brothermark pendant hanging at his neck. It was different from the others. The eye in the center wasn't blank; instead it bore a green circle to denote an iris, though there was no pupil.

 

He stood up and tapped the wooden inlay with one foot, mocking grin growing wider. "Looking for something?"

 

Id and Kuro  _ howled _ , and Glen threw himself into motion, hands gripping the spin-rings of Johan’s razor wires. A spider’s web of nanotube-thick filaments spun into existence, tearing through the four closest Brothers. The fifth dodged, but the web sheared through his left arm at the elbow in a spray of bright red blood. 

He heard screaming, but whether it was him or the Brother, he didn’t know. Or care.

 

"You _ dare _ !" the Brother screeched, clutching the arm. The wound started to bubble like wax, sealing itself into a bloody, mangled stump. A long string of expletives followed, but the Brother was not quite fool enough to stand still while he delivered them. The little coward bolted toward the door,  barely dodging the next web, which tore chunks out of the floor around him and the door itself as he slipped through.

 

**[Revenge!]**

_ [Calm yourself. Remember what you learned of their methods. The boy is trapped, not dead.] _

The Reliquary. A piece of half-burnt book on the Brother’s methods, but it had been enough to tell him what he needed. They broke the gods first, and that was how. The inlay...it matched what little of the design had been preserved.

_ [Remember what the Sparks are capable of. He will be free, soon.] _

Drumming feet sounded from outside, and he stood- when had he fallen to his knees? - and turned towards the door, the web of filaments moving silently around him and the wooden inlay.

_ [We simply have to survive long enough for him to find us.] _

**[A patient hunt, an ambusher’s hunt. The prey comes to us.]**

 


	32. More characters, more backstory, and things start getting interesting

Ren knew she wouldn't be able to keep up. The Brother holding Cassiel vanished down the tunnel, and Glen after him, both moving too fast for her to track, much less chase. All she could do was follow, and hope to catch up before things went any more wrong than they already had.

 

She picked up her bow, discovered it was a twisted wreck, and cast it aside. Tried to ignore her racing pulse, the urge to hurry.

 

The settings on the goggles weren't familiar; she had to cycle through them twice before she found the one she needed. But once it was set, she took off down the tunnel, following the faint and rapidly fading heat trails.

 

Behind her, she heard a low growl. She snarled back, too irritated to be scared. She didn't have  _ time _ to deal with more gods-cursed blackbloods. She need to catch up with Glen and get Cassiel  _ back _ ! It seemed to work. There was no sound of padding feet behind her, no scrape of claws on stone. Maybe being growled back at confused the beasts. Maybe they just weren't inclined to pursue. At the moment, she honestly didn't care.

 

The blackbloods had been hunting Cassiel. First the one in the alley, then these. That's what it had been about. They were hunting hounds, sent out on his trail. They must have known about the Sparks, sensed them somehow. What other interest could the Brothers possibly have in him?

 

Part of Ren's mind wondered if Magda could have warned them, if she'd known about Cassiel. Not that they could have told her. And it was a moot point now, anyway.

 

The other, more practical, part of her focused on the tunnels, which turned into halls, which led up into... of course. This must be the Brothers' palace. Ugly place.

 

She had to slow down then, because the trail was a mess. Too many people up here, too much movement. She took the goggles off and stowed them. Then continued through the corridors, straining her ears for the sound of footsteps.

 

Instead she heard shouting.

 

Ren ran toward it.

 

The shouting turned into screaming, before an angry roar drowned it out entirely. It wasn’t an animal noise, but it barely sounded human. 

 

She rounded a corner and stopped short, confronted by a corridor strewn with dead Brothers. The nearest corpses had been reduced to charred lumps, the others were crisscrossed with bloody gashes.

 

And it wasn't even the epicenter of the chaos.  _ That _ seemed to be through a doorway at the end of the hall, where the hair-raising roar continued. She hurriedly picked her way past the bodies on the hall floor, and approached the doorway, slowing to a more cautious pace.

 

She wasn't at all sure she wanted to know what in Huntress's name was going on in there.

 

The door burst open as another Brother’s body went through it, rolling to a stop at her feet. Inside was a scene out of nightmare, the room strewn with bodies and pieces of bodies, blood absolutely everywhere. In the center of it all was Glen, the source of the roar as he hurled another struggling Brother into a wall. The roar cut off as the Brother dropped to the ground limply. Glen stood, breathing heavily, his back to her. 

 

"Glen..." Her voice shook, and she fought down nausea, but still she stepped slowly into the room.

 

He spun, the blank lenses of his mask watching her steadily and warily. His hands tightened on the hilts of his knives, arms and blades red to the elbow. He growled.

 

Ren froze. "Glen?" He didn't know her. Wasn't seeing her. "Glen, it's me. It's Ren. It's alright... they're dead. All of them. Look." She moved only her head, keeping her hands neutral at her sides, nodding slowly toward the bodies.  _ Goddess _ , so many bodies. "It's just us in here now."

 

As her eyes moved around the room, the truth of that hit her.

 

No Cassiel.

 

A cold chill crept down her spine. But she held herself steady. She had to.

 

Glen cocked his head minutely to one side, still watching her. He didn’t move from the spot, even if his weapons lowered minutely and the growl stopped.

 

"Glen?" She took half a step forward. Stopped again. "We'll find him. We'll find Cassiel. Wherever they ran, wherever they took him, we'll find him and we'll get him back." Another step. Stop. "Come out of it, Glen. Please. I need you. Cassiel needs you. Glen?"

 

“...Ren?” His voice was small, almost inaudible, as he lowered his knives. “They...they trapped him, Ren. Sealed him away. The Reliquary. I…” He wavered, nearly falling. “I wasn’t fast enough…”

 

Ren couldn't find her voice.  _ Cassiel... no... _

 

She went to Glen, and put her arms around him, not caring about the blood. She held on tight, half leaning on him and half holding him up, and shook her head. "We'll get him out. If we can't get to him ourselves, we'll get ahold of a Brother and  _ make _ them open it. We'll get him back."

 

_ Or what's left to get. _ Ren shuddered at the thought, shoving it away. But the fear persisted. The Reliquary... it was the Brothers' holding chamber for  _ gods _ . Sparks aside, Cassiel was just a little boy. What if it... What if he couldn't...

 

Something in the depths of Glen’s coat chimed softly, and he paused before dragging out his communicator. “It’s...reconnected to the Fleet,” he said softly, eyeing the blinking green light on top of it. 

 

Her heart leapt. "How?" she whispered. "What happened?"

 

“No...idea,” he said, leaning more on her as he staggered slightly. “Ow.” He shook his head, and straightened again. “But if there’s someone this is connected to...means the barrier’s gone.”

The communicator started buzzing, and he pushed a button before sliding it under his mask and onto his ear. “Here. Who- Avvy? What- No, I’m...alright. Look, what- uh huh.  _ Huh. _ Half the damn city’s on the verge of rioting already, I sincerely doubt your appearance would help. Oh, I blew up their judiciary. Because they’re a bunch of magic-hating bigots ruled by a creepy-as-hell cult. Yes, the entire continent! Look, I’m ankle-deep in blood and body parts right now, so-”

 

Patterns in the center of the floor began to glow.

 

Glen paused. “Avvy, I’m going to have to call you back.” He pulled Ren back as the patterns began to spark, arcs of electricity flashing between segments.

 

Ren stared. What--?

 

###

 

The blue-green light was cold and dim, like it was shining through water. Except there wasn’t any water. And as far as Cassiel could tell, the light wasn’t actually coming from anywhere. It was just there, filling the space. There weren’t any walls, but he couldn’t see very far. Beyond a couple meters, there just wasn’t anything to see. No shadows, no fog or mist, not even emptiness. It was like his vision just stopped.

 

The last thing he remembered, he was being held down by Brothers, while they grinned and chanted something he couldn’t understand. The door and slammed open, and he’d seen Glen, just for a second. Then an awful  _ pull _ , like he was being sucked down inside himself and  _ through _ , somehow. After that…

 

Here.

 

He turned slowly in place, looking around. The floor under his feet was dark and gassy. It had a strange depth to it that made him feel like he was standing over a void. In the reflection, he saw the Sparks come out, and looked up to find them dancing around him. They were bright now, brighter than they’d been the whole time since coming to Finyar. As he watched, they gathered in front of him in a tight little swarm, shifting and shimmering around a bright center.

 

_ bad trapped not-safe bad bad _

 

The Sparks’ words were never really  _ words _ , just unarticulated concepts, little bursts of meaning dropped straight into Cassiel’s head. It was a fragile, slightly chaotic way to communicate, but he was used to it. Now, though, their not-words seemed to echo all around him. Was this whole place inside his head? How did  _ that _ work?

 

Cassiel answered them with wordless thought-bursts of his own, and those, too seemed to echo in the weird emptiness. 

 

_ Where are we? What happened? Scared... _

 

_ bad-place not-place no no no not-want trapped bad _

 

_ Help, _ said Cassiel.  _ Do something. Please? _

 

“They can’t, little one,” said a voice. Cassiel jumped, looking frantically around for the source. There was no one there. He reached for his knife, then remembered it was gone. And how he lost it. He looked down at his right wrist. It was fine. Not broken. No pain. Not even a bruise.

 

"Healing is perhaps the only benefit of this place. The one bright spot in a dismal situation."

 

Cassiel looked up. The owner of the voice was standing right in front of him, out of nowhere. She stared down at the Sparks, which seemed to regard her with tentative curiosity in return. She looked up.

 

Yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils peered at him from a face like a hunting cat’s, with a broad, flat nose and a split upper lip. Tall, spiraled horns rose straight up from her temples, nearly black, stark against long, rust-colored hair worn in a multitude of braids. She had beads and feathers tied into those braids, and other ornaments, too. Her tail twitched with amusement as she watched him look her over, and she gave him a predator’s grin, baring sharp teeth.

 

He stepped back.

 

"You do not need to fear me," she said, hiding her fangs away again. "Not here, at least."

 

"Who are you?"

 

“You don’t know me?” She made a face, disappointed. “Hmf. I am the Huntress. I am the goddess the Little Thief cannot break, thanks to my Hunt, which he cannot take. So he keeps me here. Others come and go, off to whatever fate he sees fit. Only I remain.”

 

The Huntress? Cassiel knew that name. She had had a little altar in Greenstone’s temple, but he’d never seen anyone pray at it. Ren talked about her sometimes, though.

 

She stepped closer, pacing a circle around him. He turned his head to follow her, but some instinct warned him to keep still otherwise. “You… You are not a god, nor god-touched, though you play host to a great Power. What are you, child?”

 

"I'm Cassiel."

 

She laughed. "Hmm." Then she turned to the Sparks. She crouched in front of them, one hand on the floor to balance her; only then did Cassiel notice that she walked on the balls of her feet, heels never touching the ground. Her free hand reached out, but didn't quite touch the thick constellation of tiny lights.

 

"Oh yes," she crooned, "the Little Thief will like you. Such energy. So versatile. He will cut you apart and spread the pieces among his horde, where--"

 

"No!" cried Cassiel. He darted forward and stood in front of the Sparks, protectively. "I won't let him!"

 

The Huntress arched an eyebrow, then stood. "You won't have a choice, child. Outside this place, you and they are bound together. The Thief will have to tear you open to get to them, and he won't hesitate to do it."

 

Cassiel looked up at her. "But..."

 

"You will die, child," said the Huntress, bluntly. "For your sake, I hope it will be quick."

 

Behind Cassiel, the Sparks shivered and shrank in on themselves.  _ no no no not-die is-friend not-die will-not-let no no is-friend mine mine mine mine _

 

_ I won't let anything happen to you, either, _ Cassiel told them. He glared at the Huntress, then deliberately turned his back on her, showing her that he wasn't afraid of her  _ or _ her dire words.

 

She laughed softly. Cassiel scowled.

 

"Where does this place end?" he asked.

 

"It doesn't," said the Huntress. “Or rather, this is all there is. It is both endless and finite.”

 

“No walls?” he asked.

 

“No. Walk as far as you like. You will still be right here.”

 

Cassiel looked up. “What’s up there?”

 

“I do not know. I cannot fly. Can you?”

 

The world shuddered, and the light dimmed.  The Huntress stiffened, yellow eyes wide.

 

"What's that?" said Cassiel.

 

She ignored him, tail lashing as she peered around them.

 

Another shudder ran through the world, and an audible crack was heard. Black, smoking liquid began to drip from a hidden edge he couldn’t see, pooling on the floor. Another shudder, and the crack became visible, as the smoke rose up into a humanoid figure. She -- and it was clearly a she, he could see the length of her hair and the shape of her body, though it was all only smoke -- looked around.  **“Interesting…”**

 

Cassiel jumped, as the Sparks made a sudden dash for him, burrowing into his core and whirling in distress.

 

_ null  _ they whimpered  _ no no no run-from stay away n _ o

 

The Huntress bared her fangs at the newcomer, eyeing her and the crack in the air behind her. "Who are you?" she said, very nearly a growl but not quite.

 

The woman shrugged.  **“Nobody of importance.”**

The crack widened, more moving off, breaking the air.  **“This design is quite intriguing. The power of gods, stolen and woven into a nigh-indestructible barrier, which both imprisons Finyar and this small pocket of infinity. Ingenious, how it feeds on it. A pity destroying it leaves the fragments of power still within the perpetrators who stole that power. Ah, but that is a problem for the soldiers.”** She looked at Cassiel.  **“What are you doing here, little one? You should be safe with your father.”**

 

"The Brothers put me here," he told her. "Me and the Sparks. Glen was there, but--"

 

He was cut off by the Huntress. "Destroying... You... you have broken the barrier?" Her tail lashed excitedly, and her clawed fingers flexed.

 

**“Not quite yet. Broken a hole, yes. Not destroyed utterly. This prison is...tied to it. I would rather not destroy it with you still inside.”** She paused.  **“It would make Glen angry. I like living.”**

 

The cracks widened still further, and a piece fell away, revealing...nothing. He couldn’t look at the new hole directly.

**“I think you should be able to leave now,”** she said.  The Huntress looked into the crack in the air, and yowled, reeling back.

 

**“Oh. Don’t do it by that hole. It would...** **_probably_ ** **not end well.”**

 

The Huntress growled in frustration.

 

Cassiel looked sidelong at the hole the shadow-woman had made. Just glancing in that direction made his eyes ache, and the Sparks wail. _ null place bad place no no no not-go no _

 

Don't worry, I wouldn't. He rubbed at his temples and looked away, down at the floor, which was one of the few things in the weird place to look at.

 

Hm. Maybe he could make a hole, too. He got down on hands and knees, pressing his palms to the glassy surface.

 

Can you...?

 

The Spark wouldn't answer. Only when he turned his back on the shadow-woman, shielding them from her and from sight of the fissure, did they finally come out again.

 

They pooled loosely around his hands, but the strange surface of the floor resisted their efforts to penetrate. They bounced off like raindrops on stone.

 

A sharp crack behind him. Cassiel peeked over his shoulder, and saw the crack had spread, hairline breaks spread in all directions. When he looked back, the Sparks were sinking into the floor, slipping through like it was water, though it still felt solid to him.

 

The Huntress stalked up beside him, staring intently, but he did his best to ignore her. Under his hands, the Sparks traced circles and arcs and spirals, leaving behind trails of of light as thin as spider silk. 

 

Slowly, the lines they made built into a shimmering design, bathing him in a blue glow. 

 

The pattern looked familiar…

 

**“Go then. I’ll finish my work here,”** the woman said, nodding.  **“Say hi to Glen for me.”**

 

Cassiel looked up, about to ask her who she was. Then the floor vanished out from under him, and he tumbled into a glowing void.

 

###

 

Ren stared as the wooden inlay in the floor rippled under the glow. A moment later, a small form fell head-over-heels  _ up _ through the floor and into the air.

 

_ Cassiel! _

 

He slowed just above head height and hung suspended in the air for a moment, before gravity reasserted itself and he started to drop. Before Ren could move, though, another figure burst out of the glow, this one traveling at an angle. The second figure caught Cassiel, flipped over in mid-air, and landed in a crouch beside the glowing inlay.

 

Ren blinked.

 

Blinked again.

 

The woman did not disappear.

 

Instead she surveyed the corpse-strewn room, teeth bared, predatory. Then she grinned, an exultant expression rendered even wilder and more ferocious on her feline face.

 

Cassiel wriggled in her arms and she dropped him unceremoniously. He managed to land on his feet, tail lashing, and stumbled away from her.

 

The Huntress -- Ren could barely make sense of the idea, but who else could it be? -- looked at Ren, then at Glen. She quirked an eyebrow at his blood soaked, gore spattered state, and nodded. "Well done. The Thief's little puppets do not go down easy."

 

“Oh, in fact they do...to plasma, railgun rounds, and nanowire, ma’am,” he said. She could tell he was grinning, even if she couldn’t see it. He wavered again for a moment, leaning on her. “Pack quite a punch, though. Probably...probably going to need new ribs when this is over.  _ Ow _ .” He hissed in pain, but straightened. 

He looked over at Cassiel. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

 

Cassiel nodded. He blinked at the carnage around him, then carefully picked a path through to reach them. He leaned into Glen and shut his eyes. Ren felt a knot in her chest unravel; he was safe.

 

But Glen was hurt. And they were still in the middle of the Brethren's own territory. "Glen, are you--"

 

"Would you hunt more of them?" the Huntress asked Glen, breaking in. "The coward’s puppets? Would you hunt their master?"

 

“That--  _ ow _ \-- depends. I’m right in guessing he’s copied himself into the Brethren?”

 

She nodded. "Precisely. Every one of them is a host to one of the little bastard's shades."

 

Glen sighed. “Then I think I have no choice in it. Both law and ethics say he must die.” 

 

A predatory grin, all bared fangs and curled lips, greeted that statement. "And die he will," the Huntress growled. She crossed the distance between them in a blink, and laid a clawed hand on Glen's chest. "My blessing on you, hunter."

 

Ren tried to warn him, but it happened too fast.

 

“ _ Hrrgh. _ ” Glen bristled, stepping back. His braid came loose from where it had been coiled, falling down his back. “I’m guessing godliness didn’t teach you anesthesia,” he said shortly.  The Huntress only flicked her tail lazily, still grinning at him.  He nodded to Ren. “Bow?”

 

Ren studied him; he held himself less stiffly, the subtle, mostly-masked signs of pain now gone. A healing from the Huntress was almost unheard of, even in the oldest stories -- and she wasn't known for her a light touch when she did bestow them -- but it certainly seemed that was what she'd done.

 

She blinked and shook her head. "Wrecked," she said. "Upper limb got twisted when the blackblood knocked it out of my hand. Oh, but..." she pulled out Cassiel's knife, and handed it to the boy. "I did get this." Cassiel sheathed solemnly it at his hip.

 

Glen nodded, and pulled a pistol crossbow from under his coat, handing it to her.  As she took it, an ear-splitting  _ BOOM _ shook the room. Ren startled. "What was _ that _ ?"

 

Glen tapped his ear, where he’d put his comm. Oh. The barrier. Somehow she hadn’t expected it to be so  _ loud _ . “That reminds me. Should probably call Avvy.”

 

Cassiel's head came up. "The shadow lady says hi," he said, seemingly out of exactly nowhere. "She made a hole in the barrier, and she said she was going to destroy the rest of it, too."

 

“Shadow lady?” Ren asked him.

 

“Strange entity,” said the Huntress. “Very powerful. Broke into the Reliquary and helped us.”

 

“ _ Lyra, _ ” Glen breathed. “Should have known she’d be here.” He shook his head. “Right. Calling Avvy  _ now. _ ”

He put a hand to his ear. “Hey. No, I’m alright. Need backup. We’re going after the leader of this cult now. Because he’s been copying himself into the other members for six centuries. Yeah. How s--”

 

Blue light filled the far end of the room.

 

The Huntress spun, baring her teeth and taking up a decidedly aggressive stance. "It's fine," said Ren, peering past her as the light faded. "If that's what I think it is, anyway."

 

The light faded, exposing a small group of humans and Shikanen. 

 

Meeting Joakim had thrown Ren. Meeting the Huntress still didn't seem real, and she was standing right in front of her. Seeing the shocked look on her goddess's face as she stared at the Shikanen... Ren found she just didn't know what to do with that. She decided to focus on the new arrivals and work out how she felt about all this later.

 

The frontmost, a brown-furred Shikanen in a Runic’s black armor, grinned widely. “Now,” they said, before looking around. They shuddered. “Carviss, what did I tell you about cleaning up after yourself?”

“Good to see you too, Avvy,” Glen said conversationally.

The group spread out, some hefting weapons, others simply looking around. None appeared particularly bothered by the carnage.

One man, with long blond hair, and dressed in a brown long coat with the collar turned up to obscure his face, trotted towards them, a metal staff balanced on one shoulder. A woman trailed behind him, cradling a long rifle in her hands, a blue flower stuck in the dark bun of her hair. She walked stiffly and woodenly.

The man nodded to Glen. “Azrael.”

 

Glen shook his head. “Not anymore, Barachiel. Sorry.”

 

“You’ll always be welcome with us, whatever that Inquisitor says,” the man- Barachiel?- said. His voice was slightly slurred. He looked down at Cassiel. “Hello.”

 

Cassiel lifted a hand and waved shyly.

 

The woman watched Glen unblinkingly, before switching her gaze to Cassiel, and finally to Ren. “Cute,” she finally proclaimed.

 

Her partner sighed.

 

“Hello, Kushiel,” Glen said, in a tone that indicated this was no surprise. 

 

The woman blinked. “Diana. And he’s Arwin. Codenames...not important, or necessary. We all know one another.”

 

Ren glanced at Glen, then nodded a greeting to the group. It wasn't the first time she'd noted that Glen's circle of friends and acquaintances tended toward the... unusual.

 

Glen nodded to the Huntress. “What, exactly, are we dealing with when we go after this fellow? Can you track him?”

 

She eyed the group. "We are dealing with a temperamental, sociopathic, soulless little shit with the stolen powers of dozens of gods and goddesses at his disposal and centuries of practice using them," she said, tone light. "Tell me what you each are capable of, and I will tell you if you stand a chance."

 

Glen nodded, and began pointing to each of the group in turn, as they clustered close.

 

Arwin. “Augmented human. Electrokinesis, enhanced strength and speed, some fifty years of fighting experience.”

 

Diana. “Augmented human. Enhanced senses, reaction times, and flight. Fifty years experience.”

 

Avvy. “Shikanen. Magic, bladework, also fifty years experience.”

 

A copper-skinned man in a long coat, decorated with harsh runes. “Human mage. Magic, bladework, firearms, and eight years experience.”

 

A massive hulking metal shape, looming over even Avvy. It bristled with weapons, and Ren wasn’t certain how she’d missed it. “Hardsuit-bonded human-level AI. Lots of guns, incredibly durable, and technically immortal. Eight years experience.”

 

A bald man, in a long coat nearly identical to Glen’s, carrying what looked like a cut-down grenade launcher. “Human. Firearms and demolitions expertise. Forty years experience.”

 

Finally, a skinny, fidgety young man, in a short jacket, carrying a flamethrower and festooned with what looked like enough explosives to vaporize Greenstone all over again. “Human. Pyromaniac, firearms and demolitions expertise. Forty years experience.”

 

Glen indicated himself, and the room around them. “Me.”

 

Ren found it difficult to read the Huntress's expression. For herself, she was rather impressed. Granted, it was the same kind of impressed she felt when thinking about Glen carrying antimatter warheads in his coat. But given the situation, that seemed like a good thing.

 

A terrifying thing. But a good one.

 

The Huntress was silent for a long beat. Then she nodded, and said, "Well. Perhaps you will not all die immediately then."

 

“As for tracking?”

 

"My specialty," said the Huntress, eyes glinting.

 

Glen nodded. “Get going, then.”

 

They followed the Huntress out of the little room and down the hall. Ren was exceptionally glad to leave it behind. The dead were all Brethren, but looking at the mangled bodies still made her feel a little ill.

 

The Huntress moved with confidence, but not quickly, stalking the halls with ears up and claws ready. She paused often, yellow eyes darting here and there in such a way that Ren had no doubt she was seeing things the rest of them couldn't.

 

Ren had to keep reminding herself not to grip the crossbow too tightly. She lamented the loss of her bow, and found herself longing for the familiar shape and weight in her hand. The familiar weapon might have made her feel less anxious about what they might find with each corner they rounded.  The fact that she could feel Diana’s gaze drilling into her back with every step didn’t help, either. 

 

At least everyone, including the hulking metal machine, walked quietly. None of the group spoke to each other, the only sounds barely-heard footsteps and the occasional rustle of clothing or hum of motors as one or another made a gesture to the others- ones she recognized.

 

She knew Glen's handsign system was based on military hand signals, but some of the gestures the group used were the specially modified ones from the loose pages of Glen's little book. That was interesting. She glanced at Glen, curious, but didn't want to break the quiet. So instead she just watched, ‘listening’ in.

 

The Shikanen- Avvy- moved past her, and began gesturing quietly at Glen.  _ Silence. Why? Still here. _

Glen paused, then shook his head.  _ Not-group. Removed. Priest. Uncertain results. _

Avvy harrumphed silently.  _ Agreed.  _ She looked at Ren and Cassiel for a moment.  _ Understandable. _

Arwin butted in with a flat negating gesture.  _ Negative. Would accept. Priest not-authority. _ His eyes narrowed from over his high collar, and he whacked Glen on the head gently.  _ You not-martyr. Still welcome. Always welcome. _ He looked back at Ren, and nodded to her.  _ You as well, _ his hands signed to her.

 

She smiled.  _ Thank you _ , she signed back. She wasn't sure how to say, in signs or otherwise, that she meant that for both his welcome to her, and their show of support towards Glen. These, she realized, were more than people Glen had worked with before. These were friends. 

 

Friends Glen had cut himself off from. Was it really because of Zachariah? She thought that might only be part of it.

 

Seven years lost and alone in the multiverse hadn't done him any favors.

 

_ Appreciate _ , she added.

 

Arwin nodded. She couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes smiled well enough.  _ You good results. And child. Backup. Family. _ He looked over her shoulder.  _ Partner. Stop that. _

 

Ren turned to look behind her.

 

Diana was  _ still  _ staring. This close, she could see rims of metal around the other woman’s eyes, and tiny, reddish points of light where the pupils should be. She didn’t blink as she met Ren’s eyes steadily.

 

_ Hello _ , Ren signed, not knowing how else to respond. That stare was unnerving.

 

Diana blinked, then nodded.  _ Hello. _ Her signs were clumsy and rigid, but understandable. She looked at Cassiel, then to Glen, then back at Ren.  _ Repeat. Cute. _ She smiled slowly and jerkily.

 

Alright. Still unnerving, but at least friendly. Ren smiled back.

 

Diana bobbed her head in an oddly birdlike nod, the smile vanishing quickly as she went back to looking at the corridor ahead. She didn’t sign anything more, or give any real indication she noticed Ren.  Puzzled, Ren glanced at Arwin. Something about Diana was definitely off, but maybe it was normal for her? 

 

For a given definition of 'normal'.

 

Arwin nodded.  _ Often similar, _ he signed _. _ He tapped the side of his head.  _ Circuits. Bad reactions. _

 

Was he saying Diana had tech in her  _ head _ ? How had that come about? Especially if it didn't work well.  _ Circuits? _ she asked. _ Why? _

 

_ Experiments. Test subjects. Prisoners, _ he signed. He nodded to Glen, who was still ‘talking’ with Avvy.  _ He rescued us. _

 

Ren's eyes widened. Experiments... she shuddered.  _ Awful, _ she signed.  _ Sorry. Glad free now. _ She glanced at Glen.  _ He is skilled. Rescue _ .

 

Arwin nodded, and motioned around him.  _ All here. Connected. Owed. Mission, volunteered. _

 

_ All? _ she asked. It seemed like such a disparate group; she wondered how they'd all come together.

 

Arwin nodded again.  _ Lives saved. Or battles together.  _ He paused.  _ Transport order. If not, we would be with him in travel. _

 

What did he mean, in travel... oh.  _ Scattered Fleet. When lost. Then? _

 

He shrugged.  _ There, then here. No time. _ He pointed at Glen.  _ Years. Seven. _

 

She nodded.  _ Lost partner. Long time alone. Still hurts him. _ She thought about how things might have been different if Glen hadn't been split from the group. He wouldn't have been alone when he lost Johan. Maybe he wouldn't have lost him at all. She didn't know the specifics of how that had happened; it was too painful a topic for Glen for her to pry. 

 

Arwin glanced over her shoulder, at Diana.  _ Cannot imagine pain. Too great. _ His head snapped up and to the front suddenly.

_ We’re here. _

 

Ren looked up. The Huntress had stopped up ahead, where the hall they were in opened out into a much broader one. She was poised at the corner, coiled like a spring, ready to leap...

 

Suddenly the goddess straightened and simply walked out into the intersection, stopping in the middle to stare down the next hall. Her lips peeled back from sharp teeth, tail lashing and clawed hands flexing angrily at her sides.

 

She hissed.

 

Looked like Arwin was right.


	33. Glen and friends fight lots of things

Glen looked at the Huntress for a moment as she stalked out, then glanced around the corner. A wall of Brethren stood five deep, filling the corridor, an immense pair of doors, even more ostentatious and shining than the rest of the palace, looming behind them. He ignored them as the Huntress’s hiss rose into a roar, and glanced back over his group. His  _ friends, _ as Avvy had so enthusiastically reminded him. The Shikanen could remonstrate better than the loudest agitator with only hand gestures and angry glaring from behind her armor’s visor. She nodded to him, and loosened the short blade she carried in a back scabbard, wisps of magic flitting around her.

Arwin and Diana were ready as well. Diana had her rifle out, watching him for the first command, while Arwin leaned on the metal staff he preferred.

Ren and Cassiel, he nodded to, hands flicking and ordering them to  _ stay in cover. _ Ren returned the nod.

Felix grinned at him, and lit a cigarette, smoke drifting. Garth waited impassively, the mass of the modified hardsuit he inhabited quiet.

He couldn’t see Thomas or Artorius behind that bulk, but he knew they were ready. They always were.

He drew a pistol from under his coat, and stepped out. The Huntress was in the midst of that horde of Brethren, half a dozen of them already down and bleeding. He fired twice, dropping one who was coming up behind her as the rest of his group threw themselves around the corner and into the fray.

Arwin closed first, a trio of the Brethren noticing him and blurring to meet him. The head of the staff smashed into the closest, and electricity exploded outward, arcs of it engulfing the other two. They crumpled to the floor as smoking corpses as Arwin advanced onward, tiny arcs of lightning playing across his staff and body.

Diana jumped off a wall and into the air, and stayed there, swooping as the gravitic generators that had been implanted in her activated. A wide grin filled her features as her rifle tracked and fired unerringly. 

Felix walked into the fray, none of the Brethren noticing him even as his kukri cut them down from behind.

Garth stood packing, watching for a moment, before a pair of small missiles launched from his back. They veered into the crowd, detonating in small, savage bursts of light.

Artorius- oh, there he was. A burst of flame turned a group of the Brethren blockade to screaming pyres as the man grinned ferally, Thomas watching his back as he always did.

And Avvy...back to back with the Huntress, blade flashing, elegant patterns of magic cutting through the Brethren.

 

**[Why aren’t you fighting? Stop standing around!]**

_ [Quiet. Have you forgotten? Watch for the pattern, and--] _

A hole in the Brethren’s ranks opened as a quartet of them went for Arwin, black lightning crackling over their limbs. 

Glen dropped the pistol, and pulled out his old rifle. Four bolts of plasma flashed down into the fight in half a second, tearing the quartet and the closest Brethren to vapor.

_ [--cover the gaps.] _

 

Moments later, the last of the Brethren fell as Diana claimed another kill. She touched down, movements turning clumsy and uncertain again as Arwin moved to support her. A blade had torn a notch in the high collar that concealed his face, but that was the only mark on any of them.

Glen glanced back around the corner, and nodded to Ren and Cassiel. “It’s safe now,” he said.

 

They came out, Cassiel darting over to join him and Ren moving more carefully through the fallen Brethren.

 

Ren looked at him. "Your friends pack a punch," she said. "To put it mildly."

 

Avvy laughed as she pulled her sword free. “That we do. Have to keep up, after all.”

 

"Do not stop here," said the Huntress, stalking toward the double doors. "We are not finished."

 

She halted just short of the doors and hissed, then slashed at seemingly nothing. Her claws drew sparks from empty air, and a ripple of energy blossomed outward from the point of contact.

 

An invisible barrier.

 

The Huntress yowled irritably, and tried again, digging the claws of both hands into the barrier and wrenching at it, hands glowing with bright, coppery light. It rippled, bucked... and threw her backward, sending her a good half-dozen meters through the air before she hit the floor. The barrier snapped back into shape with a sound like crashing thunder.

 

“That ain’t going to work, love,” Felix said, walking towards the barrier. “Can’t meet something like this with force.” He grinned behind the cloud of cigarette smoke. “Magic against magic...nah, you’ll just feed it. But  _ twist _ the foundation, add some  _ disorder _ to the mix…” His eyes glowed with a mix of black and golden light, and the barrier crumbled, shards of light falling away. “...and she’s all yours,” he said with a bow, sweeping his hand towards the doors.

Ah, chaos magic. Always useful. 

**[Fun too]**

That as well.

“He’s in that room?” Glen asked the Huntress as she picked herself up off the floor. The barrier and the now-deceased cannon fodder made it likely, but it never hurt to be sure.

 

"Oh yes," said the Huntress. "We need not even have tracked him; had I thought about it, I should have guessed. It is the little coward's favorite place. His throne room.”

 

“Fun. Garth?”

 

The AI raised a cannon-tipped arm, and fired, turning the doors to wreckage. Glen walked forwards, his friends falling in beside him, guarding Ren and Cassiel as they instinctively braced. If this had been a modern battlefield, they’d have been greeted with plasma bolts, but instead only smoke met them, drifting from the burning embers of the doors.

 

The Huntress loped forward, vanishing into the pall of smoke.

 

Glen waited for a moment, then ducked as she came flying back out, hitting the ground hard. “Yup. Arwin?”

 

Arwin raised his staff, and fired a bolt into the smoke, tearing a momentary hole through it as the rest of them charged forward. They were blinded for but a moment, then  the room resolved itself around them. It was a long, stone-walled chamber, lined with fat pillars along both sides. A purple carpet ran the length of the room, up onto a dais at the far end. And on the dais, a massive throne. The thing was ugly as sin, a monstrosity made entirely of melted, misshapen metal. It looked ridiculous.

 

The figure sitting in it, dwarfed by it, looked even more ludicrous than the chair itself. The Brother, the young, pouty one at the heart of this mess, lounged on the seat, smirking at them. He lifted a hand -- the only one he had left -- wreathed in black lightning, and waved mockingly.

 

"Look at you all, so determined to bask in my presence," he said. "Ah, well, I can understand that. It _ is _ quite an honor."

 

Glen shot him. 

 

The Brother sat up, too fast to follow the motion, and an instant later the plasma bolt slammed into a glowing shield a foot from his face. None of the heat managed to reach him, though a good chunk of the dais on the wrong side of the shield took damage.

 

The little bastard laughed.

 

Garth’s cannon-hand boomed, and the shield cracked as parts of the throne that weren’t shielded turned to slag. Diana jumped upward again, and hovered, waiting. Arwin growled, and pulled down the zip on his collar, eyes sparking as he raised his staff again.

 

Glen's eyes caught movement at the side of the room, and he glanced over. Ren and Cassiel were sheltered behind one of the pillars. What? Why? They should have stayed outside!

 

He signaled Ren, pulled her attention away from Arwin -- her wide-eyed stare indicated she had gotten a look at his injuries, the burns and exposed teeth on the left side of his face,  the metal that lined his jaw and studded his neck \-- and told her,  _ Unsafe, Take cover, Outside. _

 

She shook her head.  _ Have cover here. Will cover you. Backup. _

 

Stubborn. He sighed, and fired at the Brother on his throne again. The shield broke, but it still stopped the bolt as the Brother blurred into motion, dodging Diana’s shots with inhuman ease. 

 

Thomas fired a grenade at him, the shockwave forcing him to stop, and Artorius closed the distance, sending a wave of flame at him.

 

The fire washed over him, and for a moment he writhed as if burning. But as he twisted and spun, the flames seemed to wrap around him in ropes, compressing themselves and slithering over his body like snakes, until they coiled in his hand. "Fight fire with fire? Why fight fire at all, when you can  _ use _ it?" he taunted, and hurled the fireball back at Artorius.

 

Avvy held out a hand, and lines of magic converged, halting the fireball in it’s tracks. She snarled, and blurred into motion, purplish light lining her limbs as she brought her sword down from behind him.

 

He spun, and threw himself out of the path of her swing. "Sneaking beast!" he growled. "Think you can creep up behind me..." He flicked his hand at her, throwing up arcs of black lightning.  The arcs sank into the blade of the sword before earthing themselves, the impact hurling her back. But his attack made him stand still long enough for Diana to shoot him in the foot.  He howled, hopping backward on one foot and swearing a blue streak.

 

Red-faced and panting, he stopped and threw his arms up. The air around him  _ glinted _ , a thousand sharp edges materializing out of nothing, spinning around him. He screamed in rage, and a hail of blades blasted outward through the room.

 

“ _ Griauti, _ ” Felix intoned, standing in a circle of chalk he’d drawn. The blades halted just short of Avvy, and began to crumble away, rusting as he watched. 

Glen fired twice more as the Brother gaped.

 

The Brother moved but not in time. One shot missed; the other’s passing burned a trench in his side above his left hip. It spun him, sent him sprawling. Yet he barely hit the floor before he launched himself back up, screeching expletives while the wound bubbled and sealed the way his lopped-off hand had. Glen's mother was mentioned, his lineage questioned, and several colorfully inaccurate descriptions of his anatomy were put forth, while the Brother's face turned from red to purple.

 

A knife, sharp and curved at both ends with a grip in the middle, came spinning through the air toward the Brother's head. He dodged it, but it still managed to nick his shoulder. Speechless with rage, he flung lightning back at the weapon's owner, the Huntress. 

 

She didn't flinch as it arced past her and struck a column instead, opening a scorched crack in the stone. The Huntress grinned. "No focus," she chided. "Throwing fits, like a toddler."

 

A green-glowing grenade arced through the air and landed at the Brother’s feet, before emitting a cloud of noxious green gas. The carpet caught fire where it intersected the cloud, and Glen backed away instinctively. He’d forgotten Artorius packed the acid dispensers.

Diana hovered slightly closer, watching the blurry shape of the Brother.

 

Screams of pain echoed off the high ceiling, as the shadow of the Brother convulsed within the fog. Glen could all too well imagine what the stuff was doing to the sorry bastard's skin, eyes, and lungs.

 

Then the shadow stopped, standing straight, and a chunk of stone flew out of the fog, knocking Diana out of the air. She hit the ground with a crack and a cry of pain.

“ _ No!” _ Arwin shouted, and Glen’s vision went white as the altered human unleashed a bolt of lightning larger than his own body, his mask’s lenses too overwhelmed to compensate. When his vision cleared again, the cloud was gone, and the Brother stood, injuries healed. Glowing sigils covered his body and clothes, moving down his limbs in flares of reddish light. “N̸o͜w̕͜ l̛et̵͢'͜s̕ ̵͏s̶e̶̶e̶̕ ̷̡h̶o͘w̡ l̵on̕͞g̨ ̢͘͜y͘͝͝o̴̴ų͟ ̶l̷̡a͘st͢.̵̡..”

A blur of motion, and Felix’s circle shattered as the man collapsed, blood spewing from a gash in his side.

 

Several lights on Garth’s chassis blinked red as the AI threw himself forwards with a speed that something that huge should never have been capable of, only for his claw-tipped arm to shatter in the same manner, followed shortly by his legs. Glen spun, trying to track the Brother desperately, but nothing more than a blur was visible.

Dammit dammit dammit…

_ [Calm. Focus and watch.] _

The blur rebounded off Arwin as lightning slashed in front of him, then turned towards Glen, tearing a trench in the stone of the throne room as it closed, charging straight at him.

_ [Now.] _

He fired. The Brother dodged to the side instinctively, still coming, only to realize he was moving too fast to correct his course before plowing face-first into the half-slagged bulk of his throne. The metal strained and collapsed, burying him.

_ [That was satisfying.] _

Arwin ran over to where Diana was slumped, even as the shattered remnants of Garth’s legs and arm fused back together. The AI rumbled over to where Felix was sitting up, cradling his side and swearing a blue streak. “I'm fine you big feckin’ hunk of metal,” he growled, drinking a reddish liquid from a round glass flask. He stood shakily, leaning on Garth for support.

 

With the grating sound of screaming metal, the Brother wrenched himself free of the ruins of his throne and stood. His eyes blazed, and the symbols etched across his face and hands flared brightly for a moment before returning to their steady glow.

 

Oh, for God's sake. What did it take to put this idiot down? Well, shooting it couldn’t hurt. Another bolt of plasma slammed into the Brother’s forehead, knocking him back.

“Y͞o̵u̷͠ ̸b̨a͜s̴͞ţa̕r̸̵͘d̵!̶ ̡I͜'҉̨l͘l͡-͏̶-̷̢͏”

**[More shooting]**

Another in the gut, knocking him into the throne. A crack, and a third hit him in the shoulder. He glanced over his shoulder to see Diana, holding her rifle in one hand, Arwin supporting her, both glaring murderously at the Brother.

“D̸̸IE͢!͏” Black lightning arced from the Brother, too fast to dodge, but  another force reached Glen first, a maelstrom of tiny lights. The lightning sank into it, black absorbed by brilliant blue, and not so much as a static charge made it past.

 

_ Cassiel.  _

 

Out in the open. 

 

Without the Sparks, which were concentrated around Glen.

 

There wasn't any warning this time. The lightning flared first, then the Sparks, the combination blinding. When Glen's vision cleared, Cassiel was sprawled on the floor, halfway behind a pillar, the Sparks around him, cocooning him.

 

And Ren was on the ground, where Cassiel had been standing. She didn't move.

 

_ [No…] _

**[No!]**

No! He was moving forward, blades in hand, everything moving  _ so slow _ , cutting.

Carve and cut and  _ ensure he stays down _

Kill the bastard

“Glen!”

“Glen, stop. He's dead.”

What? No. He wasn't finished…

 

Blades clattered on the stone floor as he turned away from the pile of meat that had been a living man, and he ran to where Ren lay. Avvy was kneeling there, magic moving around her hands. Everything sounded distant as lightning flared, and Ren jerked, before breathing. Alive. Unconscious, but alive.

His knees hit the floor. Thank God.

 

He heard a soft hiss, as the Huntress stalked over to them. "She was dead. How did you do this?" she asked, staring down at Ren.

 

Avvy checked her pulse, then nodded. “No heartbeat don't mean dead,” she said over her shoulder. “Start heart back up fast enough, they're fine.”

 

The Huntress shook her head. "No. The soul has already left the body. You are interfering." There was a growl in her voice, and her tail lashed angrily.

 

“It's worked before, and I can't find anything that’d hurt her magically,” Avvy said calmly. Then she paused. “Interfering with what?”

 

"With her reward," the Huntress said, as if surprised they would even ask. "Her actions here, and the echoes of those prior, convince me she is worthy of a great honor. But she cannot receive it if you tether her to this empty shell!" She glared at Avvy accusingly.

 

Avvy glared back. “That's nice and all, but rather unnecessary when you can just put her back in her body.”

Wait. What?

**[Ren not safe?]**

He looked at the Huntress. “Put her back. Now.”

 

"That is not your decision," said the Huntress loftily. "You do not understand what it is you ask. You would have her remain here, an ordinary mortal, but I am granting her a place among my Hunt, an elite position few have the chance to rise to."

 

“And a place where she's shut away from the world,” he said. “Do you honestly think she'd want that?” He stood. “Put her back.  _ Please _ .”

 

For a moment the Huntress seemed to be debating with herself. Then she sighed, and knelt beside Ren. She placed one hand on either side of Ren's head and paused, studying her face.

 

Then she  _ twisted _ , and Ren's neck broke with a harsh crack.

 

**[!!!]**

 

"Can you fix _ that _ ?" she asked Avvy. "Or do I need to burn the body as well?"

 

**[Ki** _ ll] _

He charged, drawing knives once more-

-there was a blur of motion, and the floor rose up to meet him-

-Cassiel’s scream -

-blood, so much-

cold…

 

###


	34. Hospital

 

Glen wouldn't wake up.

 

Cassiel was in shock. His words were gone. He felt hollowed out, loss and gnawing fear pushing him past exhaustion and into something that he couldn't name.

Glen wouldn't wake up.

 

His mind was branded with images of the scene in the throne room. The Brother, a mangled heap still somehow invoking fear even though he knew it couldn’t do anything. Ren, dead, fading not-seen drifting away. The Huntress, a looming figure, a sharp-edged blur of gold and rust and bloodied claws. Glen on the floor, torn and broken. Bone and flesh and blood. 

 

The Sparks, keening in his head in response to his panic, his fear. But Glen’s hurts weren't magic; the Sparks couldn't fix them. Cassiel tried to do it himself, tried until his head swam and his vision started to go, and someone dragged him back.

 

He remembered, faintly, a glimpse of Joakim. The world  _ twisting _ . Metal walls, bright lights, rushing people. The Hospital ship, though he hadn't understood that at the time. Someone had been screaming, until Cassiel ran out of air and realized it was him.

 

Blackness, he didn’t know how long.

 

There were gaps in his memory, even after that. He had flashes of a quiet room, a bed, people whose faces he barely saw. Feeling weak and groggy, but scared and desperate at the same time. Freki, laying on the foot of the bed, watching him. Then Freki leading him, holding him up when he wobbled, to exactly the place he needed to be: to Glen. 

 

Glen, on a bed in the middle of a room full of machines. Glen with stitches, Glen wrapped in bandages, Glen with tubes running into his arms.

 

Glen, not waking up.

 

The healers -- med staff, he reminded himself; tech, not magic -- came and went, talking about surgery and treatment, about ‘condition’ and ‘prognosis’, words that meant little and inspired nothing but more anxiety. A few times, they had tried to make him go somewhere else. That never went well.

 

Glen’s friends came and went, too. Cassiel couldn’t talk to them, not even by hand signals. But some of them talked to him, and the one with the scarred face made sure he ate, even when he didn't want to.

 

Three days, and still.

 

Glen wouldn’t wake up.

 

Cassiel hugged his knees and drifted, thoughts scattered, dull anxiety heavy in his chest.

 

_ worry worry worry _

 

The Sparks. Their concern and displeasure was like an echo in the back of his mind. He could feel that they were almost as miserable as he was, and confused as well. 

 

In his stupor, they prodded him gently.  _ worry worry want-to help how help worry sad worry help? _

 

_ sad _ , he told them.  _ hurting. want Glen. _

 

_ is here _ , they answered.

 

_ but not-wake _

 

There was a pause. Then,  _ go to _

 

Cassiel sighed.  _ not magic, body-hurt, can’t-help _

 

_ go to, _ they insisted.

 

Cassiel got up, sliding off the chair he practically lived in, and moved closer to Glen. Freki looked up, cocking an ear inquisitively.

 

_ touch  _

 

He reached out, and laid his hand on Glen’s head.

 

A handful of Sparks rippled slowly down Cassiel’s arm and through his hand, sinking into Glen. Cassiel stayed where he was, tense, waiting.

 

_ pain _

_ shattered-wrong _

_ no will _

_ numb _

_ cannot feel, self broken, mind broken _

_ if self fixed mind fixed? _

_ yes _

_ fix? _

 

_ yes!  _ said Cassiel, the word ringing in his head. _ please help please fix yesyesyes _

 

Cassiel's vision went white.    
  
He had no sense of space, yet there was, somehow, proximity. There was himself, and there was another presence, brittle, a dimmed star against the white void.   
  
And the Sparks were there. They moved in rapid, precise patterns, building something between Cassiel and the other presence. Like a bridge, or a tether. It appeared with astonishing speed, and when it was done, Cassiel felt...    
  
_ Glen _ .

 

Raw red  _ pain _ , held back by iron bands of  _ will _ , laced with dozens of other colors.  _ Fear _ and  _ compassion _ and  _ hope _ and  _ rage, _ a tattered tapestry, all bloodied by the  _ pain. _

 

_ give _

 

Cassiel didn't need any more explanation than that. He gave Glen everything he could summon up that was good, that might soothe that terrible hurt. Memory and dream and hope. It wasn't pure. There was pain in him, too. Worry. Fear. His own feelings of loss and guilt. But he tried his best to send only good things, and when he couldn't call any more of them to mind, he sent raw emotion, barely articulated.  _ Here. With you. Love. _

 

_ Love. _

 

His vision slowly cleared, and once more he saw Glen on the bed in front of him. But though he didn't  _ see _ it anymore, he could still  _ feel _ the connection between them.

 

_ Love, _ he repeated, as strong as he could send it.

 

Slowly, Glen opened his eyes. “Whu-?”

 

Glen!  _ Relief, worry, joy, pain, love, need. _ Everything Cassiel felt echoed across the bond; he couldn't help it. Even stranger, it flowed both ways. From Glen, he felt a wash of  _ worry, love, pain, will. _ Then he sat up, a jolt of  _ fear _ running through him. “What... Cassiel?” He paused, groggy. “What...what happened?” More  _ fear, _ and  _ worry. _

 

Cassiel tried to find his voice but couldn't. 'Help', he signed. With it went  _ uncertainty, want-to-help, worried-for _ .

 

_ made better good good help _ , said the Sparks.

 

Glen looked at him. “Cassiel...what did you  _ do _ ?”  _ Fear. Violation. Worried-for. _

 

'Unknown', 'had help'. Cassiel didn't know what the Sparks had done, exactly. Was it something wrong? But he'd  _ had _ to do something. He felt  _ protectiveness _ toward Glen. Whatever they'd done, Glen was awake now, and that was  _ good, relief, make-safe _ . Even if --  _ confusion, uncertainty _ \-- Glen was afraid. Why was Glen afraid?  _ Worry. _

 

Glen let out a breath. “Cassiel... you've got a link into my  _ mind _ . You're _ eight. _ Why…”  _ Worry, keep-safe, protect-from. _

 

Why? Because Glen needed him. Whatever chance he had to help him, of course he would do it.

 

Cassiel wanted to explain. He really did. His hands moved, but the shapes wouldn't come. His mouth opened, but there was no sound. He couldn’t use words to tell Glen about the  _ shock, horror _ of what happened in the throne room, his  _ fear _ waking up alone, the  _ worry _ and  _ pain _ , the  _ loss _ and  _ fear-of-loss _ . Waiting --  _ hope, despair _ \-- for Glen to get better and come back to him,  _ fear _ ing that he wouldn’t, that Cassiel would be  _ alone, abandoned _ . He  _ need _ ed Glen. He  _ couldn’t-let-go _ ,  _ wouldn’t-give-up _ , would  _ do-anything-for _ Glen, because he  _ love _ d him. 

 

It was a jumble of emotion, things he needed to say, and he couldn't put words to any of it.

 

Much to his own surprise, Cassiel started to cry.

 

_ Protect! _ Glen held out an arm, and beckoned to Cassiel. “Come here.”

 

Shakily, Cassiel crawled up onto the bed next to Glen, careful of his bandaged torso, and curled up, hiding his face against Glen's shoulder. _ Loss, guilt, hurting, need, fear, anxiety, worry. _ And tears. Hot tears that stung his eyes and refused to be stifled.

 

He heard footsteps at the doorway, but they quickly receded again. He didn't lift his head.

 

“It's okay,” Glen said quietly, patting his back. “Let it out.”  _ Reassurance _ flooded through the bond. Glen winced. “What... happened? Did Ren…?”  _ Fearfearfear keepsafe PROTECT. _ “I can't... remember. Is she alright?”

 

Oh no. Glen didn't know...

 

Cassiel went still.  _ Loss, grief. _ Very slowly, he shook his head.

 

Glen went still as well.  _ Pain, loss.  _ “I...I thought so…God  _ dammit! _ ” He slammed a fist into the side of the hospital bed, causing one of the machines to start beeping frantically.  _ Anger _ ran through the bond. “The Brother? Or did the Huntress…”

 

“Kill her and nearly cut you in half on the way out? That she did,” a voice said from behind him.

 

Cassiel looked up, though he remained curled close against Glen.

 

A woman in a healer’s--nurse’s-- uniform with green, hard skin, faceted eyes, and two-fingered hands stood there. She looked at Cassiel for a moment, then walked over and shut off the beeping machine. 

“Alifia,” Glen said. Wary  _ respect _ echoed down.

The bug-woman sighed. “Carviss. At least you’ve woken up. Wasn’t sure if you would, this time.” She folded her arms. “Don’t even  _ try _ getting up for at least the next two days. We need to make sure all your organs stay in the right place. Even nanotech has its limits.” She looked at Cassiel again. “Out. Of the bed. Gave up on getting you out of this room after you bit Florence.”

 

He felt a whisper of  _ defiance _ \-- he wanted to stay close, to feel the safety of Glen's arm around him -- but it was tempered by  _ worry, caution _ . He climbed carefully off the bed. He didn't want to hurt Glen.

 

Lines of magic sprang up around Alifia’s hands, glowing green as she pressed them to Glen’s chest. “Everything seems to be--  _ what in Arayi’s name did you do, boy?” _

 

Cassiel blinked, stepping back from her automatically. He looked at Glen and then back to her, and his hands formed the word 'helped'.

 

Her eyes flickered, facets going dark in complex patterns, before she huffed. “Well, it certainly  _ has _ , given how your soul is stabilizing his. Did those Sparks of yours do it?”

 

He nodded. Hearing themselves acknowledged, a handful of the Sparks came out and hovered around him. They were pleased with what they'd accomplished; they hummed with it.

 

She sighed, and pointed at Glen. “See one of your priests the  _ moment _ you're out of here,” she said. “I don't even want to  _ think _ about the state your mind and soul are in right now.”

A flicker of something… not-Glen ran through the bond, tasting of  _ fear _ .

 

Cassiel frowned. Id? Kuro? Maybe both. He sent back  _ reassurance _ , for them and for Glen.

 

Glen nodded. “Yes ma’am.” He paused. “What's...been happening? While I was out.”

Alifia shrugged. “The Fleet’s still debating what the hell they should do about Finyar. From what I've heard, every cult member dropped dead when you killed their leader. Right now, the rest of the people there are in shock. And they don't know about us, barring the few  _ you  _ told.”

Glen narrowed his eyes slightly. “And you know that because…”

“Cidet 'forgot’ to revoke my security clearance when I passed on my power,” she said smugly. “I read your recordings and reports.”

Glen nodded. “So what do I do now?”

“What you're  _ going  _ to do is recover. After that...well, turns out that the Confederacy owes you six years of back pay, plus your pay as a diplomat for the past few months. Not much of a difference to what you've already accumulated, I’d wager. But it's enough for the two of you to live on.”

A stab of  _ loss _ from Glen, and Alifia shook her head. “Right now? Some of your friends want to see you.” She turned, and left the room.

 

Two people came in. Cassiel recognized them. The man, with his long coat and high, turned-up collar, was the one who had checked on Cassiel, getting him to eat and occasionally even sleep a little. Even so, it took effort to recall the man’s name. A... An... Ar… Arwun? No, Arwin. That was it. Arwin.

 

The woman’s name, he didn’t know. He only remembered that she was the one who could fly.  She looked at him, then took the chair next to him and held out a blue-petaled flower.  He took it gently. He wasn't really sure what to do, but he nodded and gave her a faint smile, the best he could manage in the moment.

 

Arwin, meanwhile, just nodded at Glen. “Three days?”

Glen nodded back, a surge of  _ will _ mixed with cold  _ anger _ welling up. “What happened, exactly?”

“Avvy healed her body, Huntress had her soul. Huntress refused to put it back, killed her body instead so she could keep her. Cut you up and escaped through a portal.”

The  _ anger _ grew even colder and sharper.

“Then yes, three days,” Glen said. “Avvy?”

“Shut herself in her workshop with what was left of your vest, and hasn't come out since. Felix and Garth have been making sure she remembers to eat something between bindings and rituals.”

Glen nodded again. “They’ll be the first we see.”

“And then?”

Glen smiled, exposing teeth in the least reassuring way possible. “And then we go to the Reaches. They still worship her there.”

Freki let out a low growl.

 

Cassiel looked up with  _ confusion, worry _ . What was Glen planning?

 

_ Reassurance.  _ Glen turned his head to look at him. “You’ll have to wait a bit. Don't...want to say it all until we're behind some of Avvy and Felix's wards.”

 

That didn't sound good. That sounded like something dangerous was going on. Glen wasn't even healed yet... Cassiel tried to push away his anxiety, but couldn't. He sighed.

 

Someone started playing with Cassiel's hair.

Arwin looked over Cassiel's shoulder, then sighed. “I think she likes you.”

 

Cassiel peeked over. The flying woman had more of the blue flowers, and she was adding them to whatever she was doing with his hair. He kept still and let her continue, but looked across at Glen.  _ Bafflement. _

 

Glen raised an eyebrow, and smiled slightly.  _ Amusement _ . Diana patted Cassiel on the head. “Done,” she said lightly, before handing him a small mirror.  Kind of unsure if he should look, he raised the mirror and tilted it until he could see what she'd done.

 

Oh, hey. Braids. Not quite like Glen's, because Glen's hair was longer, but still. Cassiel hadn't known his hair was long enough to braid at all. But she'd found a way to make two braids, one from his temple to the back of his head on each side, joining them together at the end. He smiled a little. He liked it.

 

Well, okay. Except for the flowers. That was pretty odd. That... had she given him a flower crown? Really?

 

Diana didn't smile, but she patted Cassiel on the head again. “Blue. For hope,” she said.

 

That was nice of her. Probably meant he couldn't pluck the flowers out, though. Well, they were just flowers. How well could they possibly stay put?

 

'Thank you', he signed. He really did like the braid part.

 

He leaned back in his chair, and suddenly felt very heavy. His eyes closed, and it was hard to open them again, though he managed it.

 

“Get some rest, Cassiel,” Glen said gently. _Compassion._ _Calm_. Freki laid his head on his lap.

 

Cassiel wanted to argue, but he didn't have the energy. He nodded. Then he curled up right there in the chair, head on the armrest, eyes already closing.


	35. There will be a reckoning

Arwin fell in step beside his partner as Glen and Cassiel left the sanctum. The boy would not ordinarily have been allowed in, but the nature of the bond between them changed things.

He gave Glen a steady glance, and Glen nodded fractionally. “He's not sure  _ what _ I am now, spiritually speaking,” he said quietly. “Three minds in one body, perhaps? It's not a disorder, nor is it a problem. Just...odd.”

He wondered what would happen if the child could do the same to him. To  **have** ...cooperative elements. Allies, not subordinates in his own mind. But he would not ask.

Glen's shuttle had been refurbished and rebuilt for the tasks ahead, and he let Diana scamper into the pilot's seat as Glen sat himself down gingerly back in the living area. He’d take weeks to recover, but he would recover, at least. Cassiel sat next to him, and their dog laid on the floor between them both.

Arwin frowned to himself. It had been too  **close** , this time, and he'd been able to do nothing to stop it. Helplessness was not a welcome feeling.

Under Diana's guidance, the shuttle lifted off smoothly from the small clearing and newly built church outside  _ Caduceus’s _ bulk. It accelerated, moving on a course to a Shikanen-built settlement, near where Greenstone had once had a castle. Made to help the natives get accustomed to their new and strange neighbors, officially, but the reality was clear as day- it was also a way to get the Fleet’s people accustomed to Domhan. And it was also where Avalona had set up her workshop, and where the rest of the people needed for this mission were.

 

The flight itself lasted only a few minutes before they reached their destination, and Diana landed the shuttle gently in front of the workshop, set a considerable distance away from the other buildings. Arwin nodded to her as she stepped out of the pilot's seat, before walking back and opening the rear ramp. The others followed.

 

Felix nodded to them as they approached the workshop. “Don't even bother,” he said, breathing out a cloud of cigarette smoke. “She's still casting like a madwoman.” He shook his head at Carviss. “You scared the hell out of all of us, but she took the Huntress being a bitch a mite personally. Don't think she's slept since then.”

A deep boom came from inside the workshop, followed by a loud clanging.  _ “FELIX! _ ” Avalona yelled.  _ “It's DONE! Now tell me where you hid the rest of my supplies!” _

Felix cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the workshop. “Everyone else is here, love! Can't do that now, you’ll never finish your new project in time!”

“ _FINE!_ _But when I have to explain to Glen how his armor doesn't kill gods on sight, I’m blaming you!”_

Glen raised an eyebrow.

Felix opened the door, and Arwin  _ noted _ that, while it was wood outwardly, an inch-thick metal panel formed the rest of it. The wood was only cosmetic.

He shrugged, and followed Felix in. 

 

The room was large and bright, and followed a similar design track as the door, which was to say, rustic in appearance but in fact sturdy enough that little short of heavy weaponry was likely to damage it. The tools and work areas within ran a wide gamut of the metal working focus, looking as if a blacksmith specializing in oversize weapons and a jeweler with an eye to fine detail had for some reason decided to share workspace. The place smelled of smoke and metal and, incongruously, chalk dust. When his eyes found the source of the last, they crossed a bit. The diagrams chalked on the drafting board against the far wall included at least three symbols that actively increased in complexity the harder he tried to make sense of them. He doubted even the paint or etching equipment on hand would be enough to settle those shapes.

 

Garth walked up to them. The golem had swapped into a more humanoid body rather than his combat form, looking like an ambulatory clay mannequin. Symbols glowed over his torso and where his eyes would have been. He shrugged, and pointed towards the center of the workshop, where Avalona was pulling off a massive leather apron. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, and from what Felix had told him that was likely the case. She slumped into a chair, and waved tiredly at them. “Hey, people...little person. Heh.” She gave Felix a glare before looking at Glen and waving a hand at a canvas-covered object. “'S not finished yet, but it's good enough,” she said, before yawning. “Go on, try it out, 'fore I...fall asleep…”

Her head tipped back, and she began to snore.

Garth shook his head, and padded over to a corner of the workshop, picking up a blanket and tucking it over Avalona.

 

Glen shrugged. “Might as well find out what it is,” he said shortly, walking over to the object. He pulled the tarp free in one fluid motion, and let out a low whistle.

It was a suit of armor. But that was like describing one of Avarich Durel’s masterworks as a painting. Grey metal formed it, etched with silvery wire. Overlapping plates of metal guarded the shoulders and joints, melding smoothly into the greater whole without a seam or weak point visible. The silvery traces formed a circular design on the breastplate, a pair of wolves chasing one another; the design was repeated on the buckle of the metallic belt at its waist.

Garth tapped the buckle, and the rest of the suit vanished. He handed the belt to Glen, who wasted no time replacing his original belt with it. Another touch, and the armor was simply  _ there _ , fitting perfectly under his coat. He raised a gauntleted hand, looking it over. “Light,” he said, “and I think strengthening spells?”

Garth nodded, and Glen smiled. “She's done good work,” he said, looking at Avalona’s sleeping form. “Anything else it does?”

_ Summon other selves _ , Garth signed.  _ Thought and it occurs. _

 

Glen paused, and frowned. Probably having a **debate** _with_ **the** _others._ Arwin shook his head, and clamped down on the static. 

Perhaps he’d ask Cassiel to do the same to him after all.

Smoke threaded with electric energy billowed off Glen, rising up in twin columns beside him, one black, the other white. Moments later, the smoke compressed and solidified, forming a pair of immense wolves.

Arwin felt his own soul yearn for that separation, that freedom, and his grip tightened on the length of his staff as he fought to keep himself under control.

He felt a hand on his arm as Diana looked at him. She didn't smile, it wasn't her way, but it was reassuring all the same.

And now the wolves were looking at him, smoky but still solid for all that.

 

Cassiel's eyes widened as he looked up at the wolves. His gaze lost focus for a moment, then cleared, and he reached, hesitantly, toward the nearer one.  The black smoke parted beneath his hand before suddenly becoming solid a few centimeters in, almost like fur and flesh. The wolf looked down at Cassiel, sniffed him, and then licked his face with a tongue made of shadow.  Cassiel smiled, trailing his fingers through the smoke-fur, and patted the black wolf affectionately.

 

Glen looked at Avalona, and he nodded. “Wake her up.”

Felix gestured, and a bucket of water appeared in midair, upending itself and drenching the Shikanen. She sat up, sputtering and swearing, before glaring at Glen. “You did that, didn’t you? What’s so important it can’t wait until I have a couple hours rest?”

Glen looked around the workshop. “Felix?”

The chaos mage snapped his fingers. “Already warded. Anyone looking in is getting looped episodes of  _ Ashen’s Morphology. _ ”

Glen nodded, and took a chair. “We’re going to learn everything we can about the Huntress. Her creation, her domains. Her  _ weaknesses. _ Everything about her and her Hunt we can find. And we’ll use it to get Ren back, by force if necessary.” He looked down at his gauntleted hands. “I  _ hope _ it’s necessary,” he snarled.

 

Someone clapped.

 

There was a woman in the room with them, a Demeki, apparently having appeared out of nowhere. Long hair that couldn't seem to decide on a color tumbled untamed around an odd, subtly asymmetrical face. Her yellow eyes held a primal kind of intelligence, something wild and primitive, but cunning, and her tail moved constantly, a slow, arrhythmic lashing that seemed to speak of a long-enduring patience achieved only through motion.

 

Arwin spun, staff pointing at her, burning electricity sparking down the grounding metal in his body and into it. Diana raised her rifle, and Felix spread his hands, while Garth fell into a combat stance.

 

Yet another Demeki appeared out of thin air, in front of the woman, this one a man with a broken horn.  Joakim. The one who'd taken them to the hospital ship. Who’d saved Glen's life. He held his hands up, placating, his body language relaxed despite the various weapons he’d dropped himself smack in front of. He gave Glen and Cassiel a friendly nod, and raised a curious eyebrow at the two wolves. " Here to help,” he said. “Huntress has…not gone beyond her domain, but she  _ has _ done wrong. I cannot aid beyond advice, but that I will provide. And  _ she- _ ” -he bobbed his head towards the woman- “-wants to talk.”

 

The woman's gaze locked on Glen, and a lopsided smile appeared. “You're the one whose call I felt,” she said. “The one who's embraced  _ instinct _ as a brother.”

Glen stiffened slightly, and waved for them to lower their weapons. Arwin did so reluctantly, allowing the pain of his electricity to fade away.

“Adran,” he said flatly, and the woman's grin widened.

“You've done quite a lot to please me, mortal,” she said. “So  _ unlike _ the rest here. They hide themselves away, but  _ you _ ... _ you  _ made a whole self out of it. A mind whose very nature is emotion and reaction. And your killing of the Brethren allowed me to manifest fully. I am grateful for that.”

 

“Do you intend to aid us?” Glen asked shortly. 

The deity shook her head. “The Huntress...I would advise you to not attempt what you are attempting. I would tell her of it myself if I did not appreciate my freedom as much as I do, mortal. She is powerful, and she has done no great wrong.”

Glen stood. “Get out.” The wolves snarled.

The deity nodded, and vanished.

 

“I remember little of the Huntress,” Joakim said quietly. “And I could not face her beyond my sanctuary. But I will tell you what I can.”

 

Glen smiled. “Then tell us. One step closer to balancing the books. To making things right. Who's in?”

 

“I am,” Avvy growled. “I owe that bitch some  _ pain. _ ”

 

Felix shrugged. “Sure, why not. Add some chaos to the pantheon.”

 

Garth simply nodded.

 

He and Diana didn’t have to. Glen knew they’d follow him anywhere.

 

Glen smiled. “Let’s get started.”

  
###


End file.
